Book of the Dead
by Hagan99
Summary: News of a terrifying new Cobra weapon sends the Joes to a desolate outpost in the Georgian mountains. Will the team survive? F/LJ- Keeping it old school comic w/ some good cartoon implausibility thrown-in. Final chapter is up and hopefully brought it home for F & LJ. Thank you to all who have taken the time to read!
1. The Tamada

a/n: This is a very belated response to JT Magnus's Christmas truce challenge. For those that remember, he had issued a December 2006 challenge to come up with a story about a truce between Cobra and the Joes. The idea was kicking around in my head back then, but work has kept me hopping for a while. Usual disclaimers- I don't own and make no money off these characters. I also have taken some liberties with past historical events and cultural references, which consists of tweaking dates a bit and stretching some religion/mythology. Bear with me for hopefully it will all make sense in the end. Last comment- kind of a mix between comic and show universes.

a/n part II: I sheepishly admit that I wrote the above some time ago. Although the challenge has long since passed, I still like the idea and am determined to finish this bad boy. Cleaning up some of the chapters and posting new ones as I go along. If you see any glaring errors, please let me know. Sometimes I am my own worst editor and my eye will skip over a typo every time. Otherwise, please forgive and hope you will still enjoy.

**December 23, 1991: ****Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: General-Polkovnik's Meeting Room**

Three gentlemen with furled brows huddled around a topography map of the surrounding Georgian mountain region. X's and O's were penciled and erased again as the men practiced the art of war, anticipating and flanking their enemies' every move. One man stepped away from the table to observe the Spartan view of the mountains standing like sentries outside the conference room's walls. Folding his arms in front of his chest, he sighed, thinking of his parents' house back home in Kansas and wishing he was there, surrounded by his family and, more particularly, his loved one. But, there was no way around it. Cobra didn't care if your mom made the best raisin apple stuffing in Wichita and its surrounding counties. He adjusted his beret, pushing an errant strand of jet black hair out of his eye. _Damn_, he thought, _this was going to be the year_. A voice brought him back to his present situation.

"Flint, what do you think about this one?"

Flint turned to face his general, a determined man who no doubt lost many more Christmases than Flint cared to count. "Sorry Sir, you were saying?"

General Hawk continued, "If the Georgian military sighted planes here, here, and here," General Hawk pointed to various positions on the map, "then our intel points to their base being somewhere around here." His pencil landed on a large "X" marked over an outlook not far from the old Russian base they currently occupied. Hawk turned to the man standing to his right, a blonde-haired, all-American type, the kind of man you would expect to see leading a football team to victory or winning the hearts of women on the big screen. But, if you looked into his eyes, there was something else there, something cynical, calculating. He may look like the man everyone wanted to be, but inside, his heart held a darkness no one would want to touch. "What do you think Duke?"

The blonde-haired man pressed his lips together, weighing his words, "That would make the most sense given the data we've received from the Georgian authorities, but knowing Cobra, that wouldn't be how they'd operate. That's just too much bare territory, even for them. They would have needed more time, more effort. They certainly didn't have that with the Soviets able to knock on their back door." Duke shook his head, trying to think beyond the situation, outside the box. He pointed to a smaller "X" located across the ridge from Hawk's best estimate of Cobra's location. "I think it has to be here."

Hawk looked puzzled. It wasn't adding up. The amount of sightings had to have their nexus in a larger base of operations. Hawk looked across the table at Flint, who had just sat down. He couldn't help but notice the dark smudges under the warrant officer's eyes. Sleep was a luxury the man didn't have lately, none of them did really. They were all on edge, tense, waiting, planning for the unknowns in an inhospitable place far from home. Flint pushed his beret back again. Looking up, his eyes squinted as his brain went to work, processing the information. Hawk smiled inside, _good_,finally it was clicking inside Flint's head. Flint was doing what he was good at, processing and synthesizing the information to outsmart the enemy in the end.

Flint leaned forward, drumming his fingers anxiously on the table. "Wait, Duke's right. They couldn't have built a base there. It's too close. The Russians, they would have spotted it. No, it had to be after they pulled out." He looked up at Duke, "So, what, that gave them less than a year?" Duke nodded his head in agreement. Flint's head bobbed in time as he thought through his impromptu analysis. Looking through the papers scattered about, he scanned a few reports of Cobra plane sightings provided by their Georgian hosts. The key to unlocking the secret was in there, it had to be. Flint tossed the documents down in frustration. Leaning back into a stretch, he grimaced through the sore muscles and fought against the impending need for sleep. "It's in there, I know it is, I'm just not seeing it." He slumped forward, head in hands, trying to sort it out.

Duke sunk into the chair next to General Hawk. "I agree, it's in there, but how do we figure it out? We need more than just my gut instinct and your rash decisions to back this up."

Flint's head popped up at Duke's utterance of the word, "Rash, eh?" he scratched his chin, daring Duke to elaborate further. Duke opened his mouth to speak and was instantly silenced by Hawk. Hawk knew the road down which these two could travel. Hungry and tired, he was in no mood for the imminent logomachy between his top men.

"Okay, that's enough I think. Leave it right there." Flint and Duke reluctantly shook their heads. They were all worn out. The team had been stationed at the former Russian base for the past week working around the clock with Georgian authorities to locate a probable Cobra operation. For the past month, reports had trickled in detailing sightings of Cobra aircraft in the vicinity. It was believed that Cobra had set up operations nearby and was testing new equipment. The harsh terrain and winter conditions made any investigation more difficult than usual. Normally Georgia would be the province of the October Guard. In this case, however, the Georgian president secretly contacted the U.S. government and requested the assistance of the Joe team. The Republic declared its independence from the Soviet Union that past spring but the United States had not yet formally recognized it as an independent and sovereign country. Given the tenseness of that situation, Hawk was surprised when the Jugglers approached him and requested that he take a contingent of his team into the fledgling democracy to work with them on the potential Cobra threat. In no uncertain terms, the Jugglers warned about the consequences of any missteps or failures. Should Cobra be allowed to get a foothold in the nation, there was no telling what the organization may try to accomplish.

Upon arriving, the team's welcome was lukewarm at best. Although State Department and intelligence reports had indicated that the power struggle between the ruling government, reform parties, and ethnic separatists parties was limited and contained, fighting had erupted between the government and anti-government factions. Just the day before, a battle had broken out in Tbilisi, Georgia's capital. President Zviad Gamsakhurdia, who had requested the Joes, was trapped inside the city and no further communications could be expected from him at this time. Hawk worried that their presence, should it be made known, would inflame the situation, and he had his own private doubts about the government they were called in to assist. The general would never express these misgivings to his team, but he wondered where it would all lead and when the welcome mat would be pulled out from under them. The Joes were supposed to be cooperating with the Georgian Ministry of Internal Affairs, but with the capital under siege, cooperation was next to impossible without working lines of communication. The State Department wasn't much help. It was a pressure cooker waiting to explode and the team was on its own.

Georgia's quest for sovereignty was only a part of the troubles plaguing the region. The leaders of the Russian, Ukrainian, and Belarusian republics had met at the beginning of the month, issuing a declaration that the Soviet Union was dissolved and replaced by the Commonwealth of Independent States. The end of the Soviet Union as they all knew it was at hand, but they didn't know when and how. The uncertainty of its fate added to the mounting tensions against the team. One wrong move, one bad choice, and who knew what terror and retribution they could bring upon themselves, their hosts, and their own country. Hawk's objective for getting his team out alive was to find and neutralize the Cobra threat as soon as possible. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called out.

The door slowly opened and a middle aged man with a bushy black beard and twinkling eyes stuck his head through the gap, "Hello there friends. I bring some interesting news. May I enter?" It was more of a declarative statement than a request. Waiving a document in his hand, he stepped into the room, a subtle bounce to his footsteps.

Hawk addressed the man, "Sure, Giorgi, what do you have?" Giorgi Makashvili was the team's main contact with the Ministry. He had been born in the Mingrelian province of Georgia and fled the country when he was a teenager, seeking asylum in the United States. Educated at Georgetown, he was a former fellow at its Center for Peace and Security Studies, specializing in conflict resolution. He had come back to the Republic to assist in its democratization. Many vouched for his trustworthiness and credibility; his gregarious nature and dancing eyes soon won over the Joes. Giorgi wasn't one to shirk from his duties and as hard as Hawk found his men working, he knew Giorgi was giving just as much. The men had discussed matters in private and Hawk knew that Giorgi was having difficulties with his own contacts and had expressed his reservations to Hawk about the future of the operation. Hawk appreciated the man's candor and didn't hesitate to allow him access to what would otherwise be a closed door meeting.

"Ah Hawk, this is most fortunate news. You see, your friend Mr. Bush has recognized Russia! He's abandoning Gorbachev on this one. He's granting diplomatic recognition to Russia, Ukraine, Byelorussia, um, it says here Kazakhstan, Kirghizia, and Armenia." Giorgi found an empty chair next to Flint and sat down, pointing out the news wire to the curious men. "I have hope then that recognition of us won't be far along, no?" Giorgi shook his head, "That Bush, he is a cautious man; does not like to stir up the pot does he now, no?"

Flint read it over, "Well, I'll be. I never thought this day would come, well, at least not in my lifetime," he qualified.

Giorgi poked Flint in the shoulder, "Ah see, that is where you went wrong in our discussions. For all of its strength on the outside, the Soviet Union was a house built of sticks. One good gust of wind from a wolf, and it would collapse. Your President Reagan out-spent the machine. Sending a man to space is one thing, trying to feed him, his family, and his people is entirely another."

Hawk examined the wire report offered by Giorgi. "Still though, it doesn't say what's happening here. I don't like this."

Giorgi batted away his words, "It is what it is General, it is what it is. Gamsakhurdia is reaping what he sowed and we are here in the middle, no? It is a tale only his father could have weaved. He may be one of my own, but I think I am too jaded from my time in your country -- the lone gunman, Watergate and all of that such. I cannot trust any of these politicians. It is a new and exciting time, but, as with all change, it will take time. I am sorry that conditions could not be better for you, no?" Giorgi turned back to Flint, "Now tell me, how does the search go? Are we closer?"

"We're in circles. The locations and scales don't match up."

"They haven't had time to establish the presence that the sightings suggest." Duke interjected.

Flint glared at Duke, "I think he got that."

Duke met his stare full on, but once again Hawk interposed between his men. "Flint, Duke, enough!" The men sheepishly looked away from each other, like two brothers caught by their dad in a row. Tempers were flaring and they always managed to get the best of each other, intentionally or not. They complemented each other, but they also tended to repel each other like magnets. It was a deep seeded rivalry, mostly good natured with the occasional butting of heads. Hawk took it in stride, playing referee when necessary. While it would make life easier if they weren't always trying to one up the other, it was in their competitiveness that their best work was accomplished. Hawk took the good with the bad and prayed that the bad would not be as much.

Giorgi was also learning the temperaments of his colleagues and, ignoring their outburst, reached forward to look at the reports recently cast aside by Flint as Hawk silently reprimanded the two men. His lips pursed together as he compared the original reports written in Georgian to the English language translations. A commonality jumped out at him, "Here, Flint, Duke, I noticed something that did not translate very well in these reports. See here," he pointed to a few common words, "it does not mean that there were lots of planes, but that there was the same plane, together."

"What?" Duke quizzically examined the proffered report.

"Here, see this." Giorgi pointed out similar passages in another report to Flint. "There was a choice to be made in translating and the wrong choice of words was used. It happens," he shrugged his shoulders, "if not using English every day, some word choices seem just as good as others. In this instance though, not as good. It seems that in the original document, the National Guard reports indicate that the same plane is seen flying with itself."

Flint scratched his head, "But how could the same plane fly with itself? It doesn't make sense."

"No, it would seem not."

A light went off in Flint's head, "Unless, they're trying to say that two planes spotted flying together . . . had the same markings, same build, were identical? That could happen." Flint looked up at the men around the table for some type of affirmation. Hawk was nodding his head, trying to think through the ramifications of that. Two planes looking alike certainly made more sense than squadrons of planes suddenly appearing in the area.

"But, it is more than the planes," Giorgi continued, "It seems that everything is the same- same plane, same flying, same pilot."

"Pilot?" Flint and Duke exclaimed in unison.

"Yes, same pilot. It seems one solider got a close enough look and noticed that it was the same pilot flying each plane. The pilots looked in the same direction, made the same movements, um, you would say, mirrored each other, no?"

Duke settled back into his chair, "Well that changes things."

Flint nodded his head in agreement as he sent his thoughts into overdrive, taking and processing the new information. "Hey, do you guys remember the recon that Beachhead and Mainframe went on? The scientist who defected from Cobra? Who was that guy?" Flint tapped his foot impatiently, trying to summon up compartmentalized memories still in storage somewhere in his grey matter. Duke shared a similar pained look. "It wasn't that long ago. Mainframe's been going through his files. What was he working on? It was a transmuter, or a . . ."

Duke shook his head no, "No, not the matter transmuter, I know where you're going, it wasn't that. That was a different guy."

The sound of Flint's fists hitting the table snapped the room to attention. "That's it, you're right Duke. Not a transmuter. It was a matter replicator. Cobra was working on a way to replicate their troops and create a clone army we couldn't stop. The side effects were too gruesome though, even for the snakes, well some of them anyway." Flint's thoughts went back to that mission. Destro had provided some key intel to Jaye that helped stop that campaign. _When was Destro ever on their side?_ He knew the answer before he even asked the question. Ever since he and Lady Jaye had assisted him in regaining control of his ancestral home in Scotland, Destro would covertly feed information to the Joes when he felt the Commander had gone too far. Flint struggled to push away his wary thoughts. _Ridiculous_, he clenched his fist under the table riding out the feeling, _Jaye and chrome dome, no way. How do I let myself think these things?_

"But what if they found another use for it, another way?" Duke was developing his lead.

"Like machines?"

"Whose to say that's not what they're doing out here?"

"If they can replicate their equipment? No . . . no . . . we can't let them."

"Men," General Hawk's commanding voice cut through the exchange, "I think we've had a break through." Hawk acknowledged Giorgi, "Looks like you came in the nick of time friend." Hawk returned to the matter at hand, "Duke, find Mainframe and see what he can dig up. Flint, prepare a recon team to head out in the morning. I want to know the who's and the what's before I send in a full force. I'll contact headquarters with the update and see if we can't get more help out here. Meeting adjourned."

"Um, Hawk?"

"Yes Giorgi?"

"I would like to make a small suggestion? I know it is late tonight, but tomorrow night, perhaps you would not mind if I held a dinner for you, my guests? You see, it is a custom in my country that we hold a supra. I will explain more, but I would like to hold a supra for you all and I would like you to be my tamada. Would you do me the honor, no?"

Hawk wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to offend his guest, but he didn't want to grant permission before he knew what it was about. The general glanced at Duke and Flint hoping for some help, maybe an out.

Flint noticed his leader's look and went in for the save, "Giorgi that would be an honor. We're humbled that you would even offer the suggestion. It might be a lot for Hawk to try and keep the toasts flowing." Flint winked at his general who was busy picking his jaw off the floor. Flint had a Georgian friend at Oxford and had participated in a supra gone horribly wrong. It was like a banquet of never ending food and wine, toasting and singing, but it was more; there was a spiritual side to it. Each supra had a tamada, a toastmaster, master of ceremonies, who kept the festivities flowing through carefully ordered toasts. No one could drink unless a toast was given. No one could add a comment, unless it related to what the tamada had said. When done right, it was a beautiful moving experience. When done wrong, it could devolve into a drunken revelry followed by a few bouts of fisticuffs. Flint had naturally witnessed the later.

"Oh, it is not necessary that we follow the whole order," Giorgi winked at Flint, "just a toast or two. As host, I could think of no one better than you General Hawk, to lead my table. I will tell you everything you need to know."

"Well then Giorgi, it would be my honor and privilege to serve as the . . . talamada."

"Tamada, Sir."

"Yes, tamada, thank you Flint." Flint knew it was for more than just the word correction and gave a brief wink to the general.


	2. A Stopped Clock Is Right Twice a Day

**December 23, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: ****Temporary Personnel Quarters**

A young woman with short, wavy auburn-brown hair sat perched on an old radiator, nestled in a bay window. There was no danger of burns as the radiator had long since been replaced by a more modern HVAC unit across the ro-om. The two competing technologies dueled from opposite corners, but the victor would never enjoy the spoils of its victory alone. Instead, the radiator remained, serving as a reminder of the base's history to the room's former occupant, who managed to keep the antique piece despite his General-Polkovnik's admonishments to the contrary. Now it served as a respite for the woman known around the base by her code name, Lady Jaye. The snow blowing in eddies around the courtyard beyond didn't offer the comfort for which she hoped. Long ago, in another life it seemed, she remembered being a child and watching the snow fall and cover the world with a white fleece blanket. She smiled softly to herself, recalling running into her dad's study, begging him to take her sledding before the industries of man turned the snow from pure cotton to blackened sludge. After some mock protests, he would give in to her pleadings, shrugging his shoulders at her mom who would often remind her escaping household of the bills to pay and homework assignments to complete. But, with a wink and a kiss, she and her father soon found themselves hurtling at top speeds down the local sledding hill. Even better was the hot chocolate waiting on the kitchen table when they trudged back in from the cold. She looked down at the steaming beverage in her hands. The powder version did no justice to the melted chocolate and steamed milk of her mom's creation. Taking a sip, she summoned her imagination, trying to recreate that taste. No good, it still tasted like instant hot chocolate from a packet.

Despite the melancholy inside she couldn't shake, she was still happy for the respite. The base had been on overdrive since arrival and she didn't think she could take much more of it. It had been eons since she'd experienced the wonders of a bed for more than a three hour stretch. Reaching up, she could feel the luggage gathering under her eyes. Thankfully, there was no mirror in her immediate vicinity. At this point, she knew she wasn't the fairest of them all.

The room's door suddenly opened, and her attention was drawn to a person who rightly could be described as the fairest of them all. A stunning ash blonde with Breck girl good looks, the woman had an apt code name from her previous life, Cover Girl. Lady Jaye tried to keep the envious nature of her stare to herself. She could only imagine how difficult it must be for Cover Girl to constantly prove herself each and every day, always having to overcome her looks to do her job. Lady Jaye was resigned to the fate that such a problem would never be hers. No one ever complained that she was too good looking for her work. Sighing to herself, she knew better than to go down that road. All things considered, she couldn't change genetics and she liked Cover Girl too much to ever let something as petty as looks get in the way.

Cover Girl entered the room bearing gifts, a brown paper bag and two plastic cups. Lady Jaye had an inkling, but she didn't want to get too excited. Cover Girl crossed the room, holding out the bag, "What are you doing all alone in here? I've been scouring the base for you. I thought you were going to join us for Ace's really bad movie break?"

"I was going to but I don't think I could have stomached Ace's choice." Jaye accepted Cover Girl's offering and, upon seeing it was hot caramel popcorn, exclaimed with joy, "Oh yes, Marvin read my mind." Then, taking a bite, "Mmmm, perfect."

Cover Girl took a handful of the popcorn and plopped down on Jaye's bed, "What, The Hills Have Eyes, didn't appeal to your finer sensibilities?"

"Not tonight I fear. I don't think I could take the all the blood, guts, and gore."

Cover Girl's eyes twinkled as she winked, "Nobody to curl up against and hold on to for dear life?"

_Ouch_, Lady Jaye winced in her mind. She knew Cover Girl didn't mean anything by the remark, but it stung somehow. Lady Jaye knew exactly to whom Cover Girl was referring, and things hadn't been going so well lately. Up until that point, Jaye had been in an undefined relationship with Flint, the team's pseudo third-in-command. Fraternization was normally frowned upon in the military, but General Hawk had decided to make an exception in their case. Not that his actions were so magnanimous; others in the unit shared in the same privilege. But still, there was something special about them, given Flint's superior status to her own rank. The other "official" Joe couples were on equal footing. Here, no such claim could be asserted. Recently though, Jaye had sensed trouble in her relationship with Flint. He was awkward around her, uneasy, as if he wanted to be anywhere but where she was. She searched her brain trying to find an explanation, but none came. She was afraid she was going to have to admit to herself that he just wasn't interested anymore, maybe, perhaps, had even found someone else. She dismissed the thought as too painful to entertain.

"Um, earth to Jaye, come in Jaye." Cover Girl was holding something in front of her face. It was one of the plastic tumblers. It had a drinking lid on it so she couldn't discern its contents.

"What's this?"

"I don't know; we all want to know." Cover Girl held the other cup up, "I get one too, but Roadblock made me swear on the latest issue of Vogue that I wouldn't touch it until you did. He said it was a special treat for us."

"Special treat, hmmm," Lady Jaye took a sip and instantly found herself in heaven. "Courtney, take a sip, you have to."

Cover Girl, also took a sip of the beverage, and her smile lit up the room. "Oh, Marvin's outdone himself with this. Real hot chocolate. If I get this when you get in a funk, you need to get in a funk more often."

The words troubled Jaye, "Funk?"

Cover Girl retreated to the bed, embarrassed that she had expressed her opinion out loud. "Listen Jaye, I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean it like that."

"Well then, how did you mean it?"

"Well, it's just that, well, all I meant is, and Roadblock's noticed to, is that, well, the past couple of days you've been kind of silent and withdrawn. Usually you'd be all up in somebody's face by now, but no one has even seen you. You're either working or in here. Mostly working." Cover Girl paused, knowing she was in new territory. This wasn't a subject she and Jaye typically broached, "Is everything okay? Is there anything on your mind?"

Lady Jaye softened at her friend's concern. Courtney didn't mean any offense and, she had to admit, she had been avoiding most of the team, choosing to submerse herself in the mission. She didn't want to deal with the questions that would no doubt follow after a time, the inquires of Flint's whereabouts and the fact that she just didn't know. "Thanks Courtney, I guess I've been a wee bit of a crapehanger. I think my body's craving sunlight and, let's face it, that strange glowing orb in the sky my ancestors used to hide from isn't rearing its head around here anytime soon."

Cover Girl looked at her quizzically, she wasn't buying it. Lady Jaye hadn't been the only person to notice Flint's distance. Cover Girl had noticed it as well. She'd always been slightly envious of the two's relationship, wishing she could share a bond like that with someone. She'd had her attractions but those random flings didn't have the substance of the attachment between Flint and Jaye. There was something amiss though. In the couple's defense, the slightest infraction could be blown up to epic proportions among the motor pool's inhabitants. The close camaraderie of the team wasn't exactly conducive to one's sense of privacy. Taking all that into account however, what was missing _was_ the slightest infraction being blown up into epic proportions. Flint and Lady Jaye were well known for their "public" disagreements, knock down verbal spars, and subsequent reconciliations, which usually occurred with some frequency. The entire time the team had been stationed in Georgia, not a peep from either party. That concerned Cover Girl, it just wasn't like them.

Lady Jaye sensed the opportunity to switch the topic during the lull, "Courtney, can I just say it isn't fair. How can you be in the motor pool all day and still look ravishingly beautiful?"

"Oh no, I recognize that tone of voice. You're trying to butter me up." Cover Girl went with it; Lady Jaye would open up when she was ready.

"Oh please, I think there's someone who would rather do that more."

Courtney raised her left eyebrow, "Please do tell."

Lady Jaye nonchalantly extended her arms into an easy stretch, "All I'm saying is, other people may find putting butter on you to be much more enjoyable than I would." She ended her sentence with a Cheshire Cat grin.

"You're up to something. I know you are." Courtney eyed Lady Jaye suspiciously. She knew she was being set up.

Lady Jaye continued, "There's nothing up my sleeve but dry skin."

"Tell me about it. How can you stand this awful artic room?"

"It's tough. I think I'm getting mummified just speaking with you. And, speaking of mummified. . ."

"Okay, here it comes, I knew it."

"Now Courtney, bear with me. It's like this," Jaye continued, ignoring Courtney's groans, "no, really, here's the situation. My body lotion?"

"The citrus shea butter? The stuff I gave you?"

"Yes, well, it broke in transit, glass everywhere, I tried to salvage what I could but . . ."

"Oh no you don't, I have barely enough for me."

"Come on Court, you know that's not true, you always have a spare of that magic stuff. I know you have a hook up."

"I have a hook up, but not in this god forsaken locale."

Lady Jaye swung her legs around the radiator and faced Courtney straight on, "Well, I was afraid it was going to come to this. I didn't want to, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

Courtney eyed her hesitantly, what bit of blackmail could Jaye whip up so quickly. Lady Jaye reached into her pocket and threw a scrap of paper her way. Courtney caught it midair, unfolded it, looked up at Jaye, down at the page and then up at Jaye again. The shock was visible on her face, "How did you?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Oh no, you can't use that line on me. Where did you get this?"

"Covert ops baby, what can't I get should be your question."

"No, seriously Jaye, how did you get this? I swear if you . . ."

Lady Jaye quickly cut in before any damage could be done, "Hold on Courtney, it's nothing like that I swear. I was in the command center picking up some discs when Dialtone was passing out messages. I intercepted it before Clutch had a chance to get his grubby paws on it." Relief washed over Cover Girl's face as Lady Jaye continued, "You can only imagine the rumors he would concoct. I'm not telling anyone."

"Promise?"

"Of course, you should know I don't care. I just want you to be careful."

"Careful? Why, it's not like we're in your situation."

Lady Jaye rubbed her eyes, this wasn't transpiring like she had planned. She had pictured some good nature ribbing, a few laughs, and some body lotion. It was easy to forget that the rest of the team was on edge just as much as she was. While they didn't have her particular personal problems, who was to say there wasn't something else going on in their lives. She looked down, instantly regretting the whole conversation. She should have just dropped it off in Cover Girl's room and left it at that. "Listen, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." What to say beyond that?

Cover Girl's eyes softened, "I know Jaye, it's just that I'm stressed out and no one knows about Hector and me. Not that there's a Hector and me yet, but there could be. We could rival you guys yet as the greatest Joe story ever told. We'll never say we're sorry and all that crap."

"Good, that's good, I'm happy for you." She was happy for her friend, but the topic was making her wistful, longing for the past and what used to be.

"Hey, Jaye, I know it's not my business, but really, despite your attempts to deflect my questions, and knowing that there will be a nice bottle of citrus verbena on your nightstand, what's wrong? Really."

"It's nothing." Lady Jaye smiled, hiding the turmoil inside, "You know how it is. We've been so busy that I don't get to see him. He was in Germany and I didn't even know it. All the things I knew would happen, but don't have to like." Lady Jaye shrugged it off, "I appreciate it, but it's nothing a nice vacation wouldn't handle later."

Courtney studied her friend's troubled eyes, searching for a sign that this was part of the plot, another elaborate ruse. Sensing nothing, she knew it was time to back off. Jaye could be an intensely private person, hiding her true feelings from the others, putting up walls and keeping a stoic front. She let her know she was there, that's all she could hope to do. It was time to give Jaye some space. "Mmmm, vacation, now that's a nice word. I think I shall now doze off dreaming of a tropical island paradise." Cover Girl then reached into her pocket, pulling out a small crystal bottle with a tell-tale emerald green label.

Jaye squealed with delight as Cover Girl handed it over. "How did you know?"

"Seems like the people in covert ops aren't the only ones with good intel." Cover Girl winked. "I heard that Verbena is said to be an aphrodisiac in some parts of the world. Maybe we can compare notes."

"Courtney," Jaye paused, "um, thanks. Thanks for everything."

"Hey, what are friends for if not to lend out body lotion." The women embraced and Courtney disappeared into the dark corridor to make her way back to her own room. Lady Jaye closed the door behind her, engaging the lock. Her hand rested lightly on the latch as she stood there in contemplation. The words she hadn't said were there, suspended in the air. It was more than duties and time, it was actions without duty. She pressed her forehead against the door, trying to drive the doubts out, but they were persistent, ever present. Why was he avoiding her, why didn't he share things with her, what was in Germany, why didn't he tell her he was going? It was all these little actions adding up, building in her mind, spilling over to the thoughts, the fears, the words she whispered aloud, "I think it's over." They wounded her more than any bullet ever could. She knew she needed to walk away, call it a night. But, hope's pull was stronger. _Damn_. She turned the latch again, unlocking the door.


	3. Learning the Ropes

Flint paced up and down the short walkway between the door and the projection screen on the opposite wall of the miniscule conference room. He cast furtive glances at his watch, attempting to project an aura of authority, but feeling like an awkward school boy on the inside. _Where are they?_ He counted his steps on the floor tiles as he marched, one, two, next tile, three, four, five, next tile, wall, and started the counting again while running the assignment through his head. Who was he kidding though, as hard as he tried to concentrate on the task at hand, his tired mind wandered to a place he'd much rather be. In his head he pictured it, snuggling under the covers next to Lady Jaye, his arms wrapped around her as she dozed, her face twitching as she dreamed.

"Um, Flint, is this a bad time?"

Flint snapped to attention at the sound of his name, reluctantly releasing his thoughts to the ether. "Alpine, have a seat, we're just waiting for Snow Job."

"No worries, here I am." A tall man with wild red hair and an equally shocking beard entered the room, carefully easing himself into the chair next to Alpine. The effort caused the man to grimace slightly, which did not go unnoticed by Flint. He appreciated his men's willingness to do their jobs, but if someone was injured, he wasn't going to risk the mission, or his men, and send them out. Flint knew however, to tread lightly in this area. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, people could be as dogged as he was, if not more.

"Snow Job, thanks for coming on such short notice." Flint grabbed a stack of papers and pretended to look for a document. "Shoot, Snows, would you mind grabbing your briefing folder. I think I left it with Karen."

Snow Job eyed Flint suspiciously, "Come on man, do we need it now? Can it wait?"

"No, you and Alpine have different quadrants to check." Flint smiled his lopsided grin, "You go get your map and I can go over Alpine's, make this whole process speed along."

Snow Job muttered a few choice words under his breath and grunted as he used the conference table to ease himself into a standing position. The table had seen its fair share of abuse over the years but shuddered under the added pressure. The movement threw Snow Job off and he landed back in his seat with a small grunt. He sheepishly looked up at Flint, "Okay man, okay, you got me. I'm an injured bird, but it's just some strained muscles, I can work through it. Lifeline already checked me out."

Flint chuckled, "What did you do?"

"It's this terrain, the equipment is messed up. Rock and Roll was helping Frostbite and me check out some of the polar bears and we hit a nasty patch of rocks and ice. They were fine, but I went flying. I tell you, this part of the world has it in for me. But seriously, I think we have to stick to the heavier stuff. Our light gear is just gonna get cracked up out there. It's some nasty business."

"Good to know. No sending in the ski patrol. But, I think it's best that you rest up and be prepared for later. I can get somebody else to go with Alpine."

"Nah, I'm fine really."

"You want to go get that file for me then."

"You're sick man, sick."

"I rest my case. Get out of here and rest up. I don't want any grimaces tomorrow." As Snow Job slowly rose to leave the room, Flint turned to Alpine, "Well, it's just you and me."

Alpine began to sing, "_Just you and I_." He stopped when he heard the sound of the door closing behind Snow Job to get serious with Flint, "Listen, as much as I'd love to make some beautiful music with you, I can find somebody else for this trip. You've been running ragged since we arrived. Don't you want any downtime?"

Flint leaned back in his chair, "Like nobody's business, but there will be time enough for that once we've put a stop to whatever the snakes have up their sleeve."

"Nah Flint, I don't think you're hearing me. Don't you want some d-o-w-n-t-i-m-e?" Alpine slowly spelled out the word, stressing every letter.

"Alpine, we all do, but it's not going to happen. Let's worry about this."

Alpine shook his head in frustration and pretended to pound it against the table. He looked up at Flint, cupping his forehead in his hand, "Man are you obtuse when you turn into robo-soldier. Let me spell it out for you. Don't you want a little alone time with Lady Jaye? I know if I was you, I sure would." Flint grew uncomfortable at the questioning and Alpine persisted, "I'm giving you the opportunity. This is a mission anybody can do, jot some notes, take a picture, in and out. It doesn't have to be you, heck, it wasn't going to be you. I'll take Bazooks with me. Or Iceberg, where's my snow boy at? This is right up his alley. Go be with your lady."

"Iceberg's been on location and doesn't get here until tomorrow." Flint launched into his list, "Bazooka's working with the motor pool greenshirts to adapt the equipment. Frostbite's working on the snow cats and you saw Snow Job. We're just spread too thin. Looks like it's you and me, so the sooner we head out, the quicker we get back."

Alpine continued to stare at Flint, he wasn't answering the question.

"She's not my lady." Alpine raised his eyes at Flint. "Well, you know, she's not supposed to be my lady. Not around here any way."

"Come on, especially around here. Who are you fooling?"

"Obviously not you. But Alpine, you know the rules and the regulations."

"Flint, off the record."

"Fine, off the record, this doesn't leave the confines of these four walls. Yes, she's my lady, as you would call it. Yes, I would love to spend more time with her. But I will not let my personal desires get in the way of her standing and our mission. With the brass breathing down our backs on this one, a slip up could be costly. I'm not going to risk it for her. Let's face it, I get a slap on the wrist, she gets discharged. All's fair in love and war they say. I beg to differ. The best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry." Flint paused for a moment, pressing his lips together, before continuing, "But regardless, we're both grown-ups about this and know what the situation is. That's all that can be said."

"But do you, do you really?"

"Alpine, I have to ask, why the sudden interest here?"

"Just looking out for a friend. I may be a simple bean counter to the outside world, but when the numbers don't add up, I notice. Just make sure you don't end up in the red."

The men stared across the table at each other, sizing up their counterpart, determining the next step. Alpine knew he was dangerously close to treading the line of insubordination but felt safe in the knowledge that Flint would never call him out. Flint studied the climber carefully, weighing the man's not so cryptic message. He had to admit that as of late, he hadn't exactly treated Jaye as if she was his lady. He had convinced himself that his subtle avoidance went unnoticed by the team. Clearly, the only person deluded was himself. Still, he had his reasons and knew that Jaye understood as well. It wasn't for the team to decide how he should conduct himself. It was a matter solely between Jaye and him. He maintained the eye contact and began again, carefully pacing his words with an even tone, "I appreciate your candor and understand your point but this is the last time we're going to have this conversation, understand?"

"Yes Sir," Alpine saluted sharply and winked. Settling back into their chairs, Alpine and Flint proceeded to work out the logistics of the mission. Flint's plan, as modified with Alpine's suggestions, was to sneak up along the south ridge of the suspected Cobra camp, take a few pictures, assess the size of the force and potential firepower, and then get back to base before Cobra could take any notice. This was no time to be a hero and attempt a take down of Cobra's operations, whatever they may be, on their own. Their only goal was to bring back as much recon as possible to allow Hawk to make the final determination on the team's next course of action. The men worked into the night and parted with instructions to meet up in a few hours to head out. Alpine volunteered to check on the equipment to allow Flint to catch some needed rest. "No use having you fall asleep when you're supposed to be minding my ropes," the climber quipped.

Flint eased his frame up from the chair, stretching out the cricks that had overtaken his back. He watched silently as Alpine gathered the maps to take over to the equipment room. The words still rang fresh in his ears, _just looking out for a friend_. What did he mean? It wasn't like Jaye to put anyone up to that. If she had something to say, well she said it and then some. _Don't end up in the red_. It was all too much for his overworked mind to handle. Time and sleep would no doubt help to make more sense of things. As he exited the room, he flipped the light switch and darkness enveloped his surroundings. There was something comforting in the absence of light. Finally, an end to be followed by another beginning. a beginning to start anew. But, his night wasn't quite over yet. It was time to get back in the black.


	4. Back in Black

Flint paused outside Lady Jaye's room. He knew he had a standing invitation, but he didn't like to naturally assume he could march in whenever he wanted. He respected her privacy and knew she respected his. It was an aspect of their relationship he never wanted to take for granted. But, he needed her. It had been too long and he was too tired to maintain protocol. Lifting his fist to rap on the wood separating them, he thought better and tried the door knob; it twisted easily in his grip. A slight push and, much to his dismay, the door silently slid open, allowing him entrance. He shook his head, _How many times have I told you to lock your door?_

"It's a futile effort," she would reply. He could see her, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side, "Let's face it, if the base is infiltrated by unsavory characters, a little lock isn't going to stop them. It may even tempt them." Then that wink of hers, "Otherwise, everyone else is too afraid of you to make an attempt. This way, easy access for you and less disturbed sleep for me. Simple really."

_Stubborn_.

He tiptoed into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. The faint glow cast by the moonlight filtering through the blinds illuminated her sleeping figure, curled up under layers of blankets. He shivered slightly; it was freezing in the room. He silently crossed the space to check on the radiator, nothing. The ancient relic had long given up on its intended purpose and now just seemed to take up space. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of an HVAC unit drilled into the opposite wall. He noiselessly made his way back, biting his lip and hopping up and down on one foot when he banged his shin on a piece of metal jutting out from the bed. The intenseness of the pain subsided and was replaced by a dull throb that he could manage and he limped over to the unit. He held his hand in front of the unit that was barely sputtering out heated air. Apparently, it too had given up on life. He glanced behind him, _Alison, why didn't you tell me? I would have switched rooms with you in an instant._ He shook his head again, _so stubborn_.

Flint carefully sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating snuggling up beside her. She moved in her sleep as the bed shifted from his weight. He gazed at her, longing to stretch out and wrap his arms around her, but he knew if he did that, he would never leave. Glancing down at his watch, he saw he only had a short time before having to prepare for the reconnaissance mission. He knew it was best not to wake her. Lady Jaye was just as busy examining the intelligence and working with Giorgi to locate the Cobra threat. It wouldn't be fair to deny her the sleep she needed for his own selfish motives. As he reached over to brush her cheek, she murmured in her sleep and he withdrew his hand, holding it there in the space above her. The electricity was palpable to him, singeing the air with its fury, his desire. He observed as her face twitched and she settled into a different position. When he sensed he wouldn't disturb her slumber, he lightly touched her cheek, to feel some contact with her. She trembled at the touch. He was amazed by how cold her skin felt. No doubts about it, tomorrow he was assigning her to a new room, his room if necessary.

Flint wasn't sure how long he sat there, gazing at her, but he knew it was time enough. He reluctantly tore himself away, stopping to pick up a quilt that was draped across a chair. Shaking it out, he tucked it around her, making an airtight cocoon to keep her warm. Glancing back one last time, Flint slowly closed the door behind him, engaging the lock. Lady Jaye woke to the sound of the "click" reverberating through the room. "Flint?" she called out, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the dark. No familiar presence greeted her. She fell back against the pillows, it was only a dream, just a dream. She had dreamt he had come to her like he used to and nestled up beside her only to be pulled away, fighting against an invisible force. In reality though, there was no invisible force; he was a willing participant. With bitter thoughts, she curled up into a ball, pulling the quilt over her head. She didn't think to question how the quilt came to be, nor did she notice the fading indentation of a man's form next to her.

After a few hours, Lady Jaye's alarm clock roused her from her sleep. Begrudgingly, she fought against the tangled covers, swinging her feet to the floor. Shivering, the icy cold tiles sent shocks through her system. She was awake now. Reaching about, she found her cast-off shoes and made her way to the HVAC unit, which had apparently sounded its death knell in the night. _Have to get that fixed_, she remarked to herself. Rubbing her arms together, she decided to head over to Cover Girl's to take a shower lest she catch a cold in her icebox of a room. When the door wouldn't budge, she sat back on the bed, wondering if that too had broken sometime in the night. Lady Jaye pulled at the door some more until realization dawned on her, it was locked. She didn't remember locking the door but maybe, just maybe, that's why she woke up alone. Did she dare believe? _No_. Hope could be such a false thing. She was done with hope.


	5. Interlude

The motor pool was buzzing with life despite the earliness of the hour. It was a well oiled machine; each cog fit perfectly into the wheel. The wheel went around as it always had and as it always would. Flint stood off in the doorway unnoticed, hands on his hips, observing the group go about its paces. It served as a microcosm to the full team. Often when he was having difficulties figuring out his team and when he suspected all was not quiet on the western front, he would come here to the edge of the great beast and just watch, watch and listen. Soon, the answer would unfurl before him like a flag finally finding the wind. In the natural course of time, all would be made known. A look would give someone away. Maybe it would be Clutch, silent, keeping to himself, all serious and somber. Or it could be an agitated Cover Girl, skillfully avoiding contact with the other grease monkeys. Either way, he'd figure it out- whether it was a base-wide prank gone wrong or the carefully laid boundaries between the acceptable and the obscene crossed, soon enough he'd get his answer. He was the unknown visitor, the unfelt presence on the perimeter. Hawk always congratulated him on his inner sense and ability to read the men. If Hawk only knew how he kept to the edges and watched. There was no time for feelings in this line of work. But, as he knew he should, Flint kept his secret to himself.

Today was not the day for standing back however, and he approached a waving Alpine, beckoning him over to a recently modified A.W.E. striker. Flint crossed over the floor to join Alpine, currently engaged in deep conversation with Clutch. Clutch was busy pointing out the modifications to the vehicle that he had labored over during the evening hours.

"Hey Flint, check this out. I was able to modify some heating coils and run them under the seats, here and here. This should help with the temperatures." Flint and Alpine followed Clutch as he walked around the vehicle, "And see here, we've modified the tires to get better traction on the terrain without leaving a visible foot print. Actually, it will still be there, but someone would have to be looking pretty close to the ground to see it." Clutch's enthusiasm was contagious and Alpine found himself getting excited to test out the vehicle. Clutch led the two men around to the front of the jeep. "And here, here is where it gets exciting," he slapped the jeep's hood, "underneath here, oh let me tell you, underneath here this baby has some bite. But silent too. Purrs like a kitten. You'll be in and out of there in no time and no one will be any the wiser. Any questions?"

"No, it looks like you guys have done a great job. Thanks for being on top of this." Flint patted the man on the back. "Listen, if I had any say, you should take a few off and catch your breath."

"Thanks Flint," Clutch was slightly floored by the praise. He usually found himself on the receiving end of some of Flint's esoteric tirades and wasn't quite used to a basic, easy to understand, completely in English, non-Shakespeare quoting, compliment. Naturally, it wouldn't last, but he'd take it where he could get it. "I appreciate the offer, but me and the boys," his speech was interrupted by a faint, "_Excuse me!_" coming from underneath the jeep and a leg connecting to his shin, "Ouch! Sorry, me and the girl and the boys have a lot to do if you guys turn anything up." Clutch crouched down under the vehicle to address the leg's owner, "That work for you?"

A grinning Cover Girl, covered in splotches of oil and grease grinned back at him, "Perfect. You'll catch on some day."

"Oh yes I will if I want to walk as an old man."

Cover Girl shook her head and turned her attention back to the last minute tune-up.

Clutch straightened up and motioned Bazooka over to the group. "Bazooka here has been working on the armament. We took the minigun off to lighten the load, but if you think you'll need it, say the word and Bazooka can hook it back into the radar system."

Flint and Alpine cast a quick glance at each other, knowing the answer. Alpine spoke, "Not necessary. We're manly men, no minigun for us. Only the maxi-gun if you have it."

Clutch reached out and shook their hands, "Well, happy hunting."


	6. Turning Right

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Intelligence Operations Center**

"We have a saying, the rat that came from outside, drove out the house-born rat."

The words came from nowhere, startling Lady Jaye. She looked up from the documents she had been pouring over all morning to see Giorgi standing there in front of her. She hadn't even noticed him enter the small area. Although dubbed the Intelligence Operations Center, the name painted too grandiose a picture for the austere surroundings. The room did not consist of much, a few cubicle dividers, large metal table and several mismatched chairs. Still, there was room to spread out and think; that's all Lady Jaye really needed anyway. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You are occupied and look puzzled. I thought I would offer some advice, no?" Giorgi sat down next to her, placing a few manila folders on the table.

"Advice? Sounds like more riddles."

"No, it is advice. I find that in our haste to uncover the secrets of the deep, we ignore the obvious."

"Obvious?" Lady Jaye closed the folder she had been reviewing and leaned back in her chair, anxious to hear Giorgi's take on the situation. If she had learned one thing during her time spent tucked away from most of the team, it was that one had to work to truly understand Giorgi's revelations. The effort however, was well rewarded in the end. Seemingly irrelevant facts gained new importance and dead ends suddenly sprang to life. He missed nothing and considered everything. She knew she was learning under his tutelage and only wished she could have more time with him to hone her craft. Time was short though and she would make use of every possible second.

"Obvious. We must think about where it leads. Now what did I tell you yesterday?" He crossed his arms and stared down at her as if she was a petulant child. Truth be told, Jaye had the sinking feeling that she hadn't done her homework.

"The road leads back to the same place?"

"Close, but that was not it, no?"

"No, it was," Lady Jaye coughed and attempted her best Giorgi impression while shaking her finger in his direction for emphasis, "the road runs where an old road ran, the river flows in the bed of a former river."

"Exactly! Now what does that tell you?"

"I'm always going to buy a dress on sale that I don't want because it's on sale?"

"Lady Jaye…" He narrowed his eyes, silently scolding her.

"I know, I know," she waved him off, frustration setting in, why couldn't she see what he saw, what didn't she comprehend? "I don't know Giorgi, the more I review, the more it doesn't make any sense. It looks like there may have been some feelers put out in the past to engage in dialogue with Cobra, but that was before. There's nothing new now…," her voice trailed off, she gasped out loud, meeting Giorgi's reluctant nod, an acknowledgement that she understood, "but because there's no record, doesn't mean it hasn't happened. The outside rat is going down the same road, but Giorgi, no, you can't think that, can you?"

"I have had my suspicions, no? I like to believe it is different, that my people are different, a stronger breed. But we would not have our sayings, no?"

"But you think Gamsakhurdia?"

"It is more possible than not. It may be others around him, this I do not know." He shook his head, saddened by the thoughts of what may be. "But, we have our work cut out for us, no? I picked this up for you." He held out a folder he had brought with him.

Jaye took it from him and spread the contents out in front of her. Sifting through the crumpled copies, she recognized them as the receipts and notations of contributions made to Gamsakhurdia's movement she had previously examined. Several names were circled. These were names without an owner. Despite exhaustive searches through national directories and government databases, she had not been able to locate a corresponding physical manifestation in the flesh. Mainframe had set up a logarithm and ran permutations of the names until one name was connected to them all. Using an Interpol program, Lady Jaye had linked that name with a small Cayman Island subsidiary of a Swiss brokerage. She had done it more on a whim, something to break the logjam. She expected nothing to come out of this exercise; it was more to feel useful. But beneath the records and the reports was a fact she didn't expect, a consequence she did not want. The brokerage, it turned out, only worked for one other client. She looked up at Giorgi, finally noticing the age around his eyes. As difficult as these missions could be on her, she knew she could go home. But what did you do when you were home? She stated the findings, "Tomas Kobpa, Extensive Enterprises." Could it really be?

Giorgi smiled like Mona Lisa sharing her secret, "I think they meant кобра, no? It would make more sense."

Lady Jaye nodded her head in agreement. Кобра was Russian for cobra. There couldn't be much doubt now. If Cobra was in the picture, how deep and how far to the top did it go? What did it say for the success of their mission? Was there even supposed to be a success, or were they being played? She tried to block out the thoughts, but her mind was already running ahead of her, compounding the equation. "But what's there to gain by us being here? Why bother? If Cobra's giving them money, why not go with Cobra, why involve us?"

"To hedge their luck, no?"

"You mean, to play us both? So, if we succeed and kick Cobra out, everything is good, we defeat the terrorists. They helped and the US recognizes them for that. But, if we fail, or if they lose control, then they side with Cobra to wrest control back?" Lady Jaye's voice trailed off as she extrapolated the findings. Of course, if they lost control, if the opposition parties were successful in their revolt, the United States wouldn't step in, it wouldn't interfere, not this close to a restless Russia. The US would stay away. But the Soviet Union, what was left of it, wouldn't step into the fray either. The only country to worry about was Russia. It was too busy dealing with its own problems, or the October Guard would be sitting in the Joes' stead. No, even if it did come down to a bout with Russia, maybe Georgia lost a few outlying provinces, but the current government still held on to its seat, maybe teaming with Cobra to eventually get them back, maybe finally giving Cobra a foothold in this part of the world. She found she couldn't verbalize the scenarios after that. It was too much. "Giorgi, it can't be?"

He was resigned, "Turn to the right, or turn to the left, 'twill all be one in the end, no?"

"But it can't be. The team, this changes it for them. There has to be some way to, I don't know; stop it, tell someone, to do something." She paused, she felt uncomfortable, but she had to know, "Giorgi, how did you get these?," she held up a receipt.

"I had a friend who knew where to look."

"Your friend?"

"Ah, we have another saying, 'the hen scratched and scratched till she dug up a knife, with which her own throat was afterwards cut.'"

"Giorgi, I'm sorry." Lady Jaye placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Giorgi squeezed it with his own, shrugging.

"But, he did what he needed to do, I do what I have to and the rest will fall where they may."

"What do you have to do?"

"Make it right, I believe you Americans would say, no? I am not so foolish to think that a simple man can change, but a simple man, with others, perhaps that may be enough. It is enough. In the end, however it turns out, we shall all be at the same place and we shall all be judged and account for our deeds when we sign our name in the book."

"Book?"

"Yes, the book of the dead. You see, when we all pass, the shepherd will show us our place to sign in the book. Once we sign our name, we will be shown to our place, whatever it may be. But first, we sign and are made accountable, no?"

"I haven't heard that before. Who's the shepherd?" Lady Jaye found her inner student roused by Giorgi's talk. Over the past few days she found that the most enjoyable parts were listening to the stories and folktales of his youth. She knew she should get them back to the matter at hand; she just couldn't resist a momentary detour.

"Ah, the shepherd, now that is a tale told in my village. I will try to make it short. The shepherd has two sides; he represents the duality of man, no? Our shepherd is first and foremost a working man, content to mind his herd. But, he had a gift and was a great judger of man. In the kingdom where he lived, the king had four viziers, or high officials you would say, who served as judges to the people. These judges were not always great and issued a sentence that confounded the people. The shepherd came to be known to the king and there was something in his manner that the king recognized his potential and asked his judges to show the shepherd the sentence. It did not please the shepherd and he altered it from beginning to end.

"When the king saw this, he requested that the shepherd be a judge. The shepherd refused, saying that as long as he had eyes, he could not judge and if they put out both of his eyes, he would be a judge. Finally, he persuaded them to put out his eyes. They built him a great, fine house, they gave him scribes, furnished him with everything befitting his office, and made the shepherd supreme judge.

"The shepherd was so just that people flocked to him from all sides, seeking his wisdom and judgment, everyone praised and blessed his decisions, similar to King Solomon. A feud over a calf was brought before him. A man claimed that he had visited a woman on a mule accompanied by a calf. He claimed the calf began to nurse the mule, but the woman took it away and would not return his property. In secret though, this man had sent the shepherd a bribe, asking that he not be put to shame before the woman. The shepherd would not take the bribe and asked the woman for her side of the story. The woman replied that all she had in the world was the calf and its mother. She said the man had visited her on a mule and the calf went up to the mule and tried to nurse it. The man then took it away, claiming it as his property.

"After hearing both sides, the shepherd pronounced that since a mule never bore offspring and never would, it was less possible that it should bring forth a calf. He then decreed that the calf should be taken from the man and given to the woman, who owned the cow, the mother of the calf. Everyone could see that his judgment was good. God showed mercy and the woman placed her kerchief over the shepherd's eyes, restoring his sight. He continued to judge righteously until he died and went to heaven. Some say that his wisdom lives on and he serves as a judge when you pass on, allowing you to sign your name in the book. Once you find your name and sign the book, you are directed to your next stage, whatever that may be."

Lady Jaye was intrigued by this new mythology. She knew there were more important things at hand, but the temptation of escape was too great to overcome. "How does your name get in the book?"

"I forgot, you are a scholar as well."

Lady Jaye laughed, "Well, I wouldn't say that."

Giorgi brushed aside her modesty, "No, no, you are, these things I can tell. Who would ask me, Giorgi, how do you get in this book? No, one would say, Giorgi, crazy story, we have bad guys to capture. But we forget why we catch the bad guys if not to have conversations like this. We need to recharge our minds as much as our bodies. Now, I tell you how to get your name in the book."

"I'm not so sure I want to get my name in that book, at least not yet." They both laughed, continuing on, oblivious that there was a third participant to their conversation.

Unbeknownst to them, Flint had wandered into their small enclave. Just returning from his mission with Alpine, he was eager to share his findings with Jaye to see if she could use any of his observations in her work. He didn't get that far, losing himself in Giorgi's story. Now, the sound of Jaye's laughter kept him back. He lived to hear that, that sound escaping carefree from her chest, the uncontrolled expression of delight. He tried to think of the last time he was its cause. Had it really been so long that not one example sprang to mind? He shook his head, disgusted at himself. When this mission was over, if all went well, he had a few things planned and it could be expected that it would be a week or two before they returned back to headquarters. Leaning against the wall, he decided to wait for Giorgi and Jaye to finish before making his presence known, the previous hours replaying in his mind.


	7. By the Laces of Your Shoes

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this. Not sure if it's been too slow in the build-up (slightly worried about that), but the action is starting to pick up and hopefully will peak your interest. It's been awhile since ROTC, so if it looks like I messed up some terminology, let me know and I'll correct.

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Suspected Cobra Base**

Alpine carefully picked his way up the icy rock face, creating a path for Flint to follow. As the lead climber, his job was to ascend the rocky cliff and place anchors along the way for the next climber to use. Flint, as the next climber and belay, remained below, steadying the ropes and breaking any potential fall of the man above. Not that there would be a fall, but Alpine always covered his bases. Known as the team's "comedian," Alpine was anything but dangling from a rope 10,000 feet up in the air. _Well, there was that one time in Alaska_, he thought to himself as he reached up and slammed his ice axe into the cliff's face, pulling down to insure its grip. _But Flint totally had it coming_, he grinned as the picture of a petrified Flint hanging off a ridge by his shoelaces played out in his head. To be fair, Bazooka and he had replaced Flint's regular laces with a Kevlar-steel blend creation Bazooka had picked up from that CIA spook. Flint was never in any real danger; it was just his perception of danger that mattered. The fact that Lady Jaye was willing to go in on the prank was just icing on the cake. At least Flint learned to tone down his management style after that. Alpine chuckled recalling the adventure. He continued his climb, steadying himself with the ice axe and pushing up, finding the next crevice. Inserting another anchor, he tugged down on it until he was satisfied it wouldn't pull out under Flint's weight. Although he enjoyed seeing Flint dangle last time, he wasn't in the mood for a repeat performance. The anchor had to hold. Despite his reputation as the team's intellectual, Flint had at least thirty pounds and it seemed as many inches on the climber. No skinny nerd was following his footsteps. Alpine looked down behind him, "You doing okay back there?"

Flint grunted in response, "Never mind me, you just pay attention to that rope."

"Roger that."

Alpine turned his gaze upwards, marveling at the beauty of the mountains' majesty spread before him. He longed to climb the surrounding peaks under different circumstances. An accountant by profession, it was rock climbing that owned his soul. There never were enough missions requiring his special skills and he always took care to take a moment, no matter how brief, to soak in the atmosphere. All around him he took in with awe the dazzling white snow that almost blinded him with its purity. The peaks rose above to meet the heavens like hands clasped in prayer. Each rock contributed to the whole, praising god in silent worship. The climber took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crispness of life amongst the desolate beauty. It could be a terrible beauty though. One had to revere and acknowledge the inherent risks of climbing a mountain. One false move, one misplaced grip, and a climber could find himself pitched off the side just as easily as he had scaled it. What he and Flint were engaged in, mixed climbing in ice and snow, was the most complicated. No one climbing method could ensure that a climber would safely make it to the top of the mountain. Each foothold and grip brought a new challenge. Ice, snow, rocks, a different technique was required for each element. Alpine knew he was up to the task; he just worried in the back of his mind about the man starting to ascend underneath him. Although all the Joes were proficient climbers under normal conditions, most never had to contend with scaling a side of ice. He also had to admit to himself that some of his worry came from the desire to make sure Flint made it back in one piece for Lady Jaye's sake. After the Alaska prank, he promised her he would watch Flint's back from there on and would always get him back to her as he found him. He hadn't broken that promise yet and didn't intend to do so today.

Alpine yelled back down, "Okay, I've got the grips in place, nice and easy should do it. Mind the wind. We're close to the top so hand signals from here on out." Flint responded with a halfhearted grin and a thumbs up. Alpine finished his ascent, steadying the ropes as Flint made his way. While not as nimble as Alpine, the climber observed the larger man's ascent and breathed easy that Flint was remembering the basics and making confident progress. Once Flint was at the top, the men pulled the rope up and hid it underneath a rock, piling some snow around it to conceal any evidence of tampering. The men then paused for a moment, two solitary figures dwarfed by the desolate splendor and magnitude of the mountains. Each felt insignificant standing in the shadow of these wonders.

They had climbed up the side of a precipice that lead to an amphitheatre-like valley created between the mountain peaks by glacial erosion. The wind swept through the area, creating swirling eddies of ice and snow. Mountain crags stood like sentries at three sides. The only way in, or out, was the climb they had made from the crystalline highlands below. Flint was conscious of their means of escape should any problems arise and plotted out various retreat scenarios in his head. The wind made it virtually impossible to see very far ahead and just as difficult to make out where they had been. It would take some careful navigating and even more careful marking. Should they find anything, it was imperative that their presence never be detected. Flint glanced at Alpine, pointing to his own eyes, motioned back and forth between the men, and then to the surrounding region. Alpine gave an affirming nod; he understood. Pay attention, follow closely, and don't get split up. They moved on, silently creeping towards the unknown. There was an expectation of what they would find, but no friendly high image satellite map to confirm any of the top command's suspicions. It was a blind reconnaissance mission in every sense of the word.

Flint took over point and Alpine stayed close behind. Here, on the somewhat flat and firm terra, he was in charge once more. He led Alpine to a grouping of boulders, which looked like they would provide some natural cover. Alpine crouched low, waiting as Flint surveyed the area with his binoculars. The gusting wind and the various formations of rock, snow and ice dotted the landscape, covering up any identifiable signs of human activity. Flint was about to signal to Alpine to continue their forward progression when an alarm went off in his head. Part of being a good soldier was honing your instincts, learning when to listen to the voice in your head and when to ignore it. At this moment, Flint felt his hair stand on end and his skin tingle in warning. Tilting his head to the side, he could barely make it out, but it was there, a sound different then the flurrying ice slamming against the rocks. It was a faint crunch, the hurried exhale of air- he knew. Flint grabbed Alpine and pushed him to the ground, eyes stern. With his right hand, Flint pointed to his left, just beyond the rock, then holding up two fingers. Two enemy troops were just to the other side of the rocks.

Alpine and Flint crouched down low, praying that they would not be found. The footsteps stopped just to the right of their hiding place. The wind carried the conversation past them. "I don't see anything; I think the televipers are at it again. I'm so sick of their arrogance."

The statement was followed by a deeper voice, "I hear you, once this gig is over, I'm taking the money and running as far as I can from all of this."

The first voice again, a softer spoken man, "If they would set the equipment up right, we wouldn't have to be wandering around out here every five minutes. I'd like to see them take patrol duty for a day. See how they like it." The man paused and his footsteps grew closer. Flint clenched his fists together, holding his breath, every muscle in suspense, waiting to flee or flight. Neither was necessary as the man continued on, "Yeah, I'm with you. Take the money and go. What have we gotten lately but a lot of big fat nothing."

The deeper voice, "Let's keep moving." The two enemies shared a laugh and the crunch of their footsteps faded.

Alpine looked across at Flint, his eyes wide, wiping imaginary perspiration from his brow. _How did you know?_ he wanted to say. Flint flashed one of his infamous lopsided grins while pointing to his ears and dusting off imaginary lapels. _Maybe we didn't teach him as much of a lesson as we thought_, Alpine shook his head at Flint and gestured him onward.

Flint followed the retreating tracks of the Cobra foot soldiers to another formation. They knew they had to be close if soldiers were patrolling. He and Alpine once again crouched down low and Flint pulled out the binoculars. He smiled to himself, _jackpot_. There in the distance were the makings of a base. It wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination. Tucked away in a far corner of the cirque was a small outcropping of shed-like buildings and what appeared to be a single airplane runway. Flint zoomed in, taking pictures of the structures with the binoculars' digital camera. Alpine joined Flint in his surveillance, carefully noting the potential size of the Cobra force. Six planes were parked around the runway and appeared to resemble the descriptions provided by the Georgian military. Similar in structure to rattlers, the planes had different engines and seemed to be modified for the harsh climate. The exhaust outtake was scaled back and the canopy was reinforced. It would take some well-placed shots to take down these birds. Scattered about the base were other vehicles consisting of a few all-weather jeeps and tanks. Approximately ten Cobra snow troopers stood as sentries around the perimeter of the buildings, but from the looks of it, the majority was from lower ranks. It didn't appear as if the higher-ups had to endure the frigid temperatures.

All in all, the base didn't look like much. If Flint was pressed to make an assumption as to the base's purpose, he would trust his gut that Cobra was using the area as an out of the way proving ground for cold weather operations. It was the perfect place. The country was in turmoil, it was a secluded spot, and no one would ever look for them. The base for all intents and purposes had the look of being quite temporary. Flint estimated that it would take Cobra less than a day's notice to scrap it and pull out. No one would be any the wiser.

Flint contemplated getting closer to the base, but they were running out of cover. Cobra was wise when it chose this location. The desolate terrain meant that no one could sneak up on them unannounced. To try to get closer only risked being noticed, or worse. The ease with which he and Alpine were able to sneak up to the base troubled him though. Even a small installation should have more security than this. It just felt wrong. His instincts were kicking in once more and he let his mind wander. Although it was the perfect place for testing equipment, exactly what kind of equipment were they testing? He thought back to his conversation with Hawk, Giorgi, and Duke. The base was small, but it wouldn't take a large base if Cobra had a working replicator. Flint brought the binoculars up and slowly scanned the base, _where could it be, where were they hiding it_? He zoomed in on each structure, one catching his eye more than the rest. It was more permanent than the others and not as haphazard in its construction. Furthermore, it had the most guards surrounding it He zoomed in closer. Barely discernable vehicle tracks disappeared into the side of the building, but he couldn't figure out why the tracks stopped and how the vehicle got inside. If Cobra was up to something, that building no doubt held the clues. Flint snapped away with the camera. Even if he couldn't spot something, one of the techies might. Alpine tapped him on the shoulder, pointing to his watch. Flint reluctantly put the binoculars away, nodding his head in agreement. Time was short and they had gotten enough pictures to hopefully assist intel in deciding the team's next move.

As carefully as they had approached the base, they were equally careful to erase any trace of their presence as they retreated. Reaching the first set of boulders, they paused and pressed against the rocks when they heard the voices of the two soldiers previously encountered. Alpine held his breath, praying that Flint and he had adequately covered up their tracks. From the conversation drifting past his ears, he felt confident Flint and he were safe.

The deep voice spoke first, "Well, I think that covers it. I'm headed back in to work with the locals."

The softer voice responded, "Yeah, well, lucky you. I'm stuck out here until the next shift. Who's relieving you?"

"I think Johnson pulled it."

"Damn, he's useless. So you're telling me I'm alone until next shift?"

"Yeah, well, better out here than in there dealing with those fanatics."

"I'll trade you."

"On second thought, I think I can stomach listening to their speeches a little longer."

"Thanks man. Tell Johnson to hurry."

The deep voice laughed and his words were lost in the wind as he headed back to the base. The other Cobra reluctantly sighed, muttered a few curses under his breath directed at Johnson, and resumed his patrol.

Waiting until they were certain they were alone, Flint and Alpine crept towards the ledge, stopping to retrieve the rope. Alpine anchored the rope from the top and assisted Flint in starting his descent. For all it was worth, Flint always felt that going down was much worse than going up. He hated the lack of control in blindly making your way down a mountain. Going up, at least you could see what was coming. Going down, however, he found he gripped the rope a little too tightly to keep his gaze on his destination for very long.

Taking a deep breath, Flint gingerly lowered his body over the side of the cliff and began to climb down the rope, carefully placing one foot in a crevice and following with the other until his descent mimicked a kind of vertical shuffle. It was by no means a textbook descent, but Flint didn't care. As long as he reached the bottom safe and sound in one piece, he would consider it a success.

Flint cleared the first anchor and signaled up to Alpine when Alpine's head suddenly disappeared from view. _What the?_ Flint thought to himself, forcefully whispering up, "Hey, hey Alpine, this is no time for games." The back of Alpine's head appeared this time and was slammed down into the snow by an unknown force, sending a small cascade of ice and rocks down towards Flint. Switching gears, Flint quickly reversed his movement and began to climb back towards the top, hanging on to the rope as it swayed from the action above.

Reaching the top, Flint poked his head up to see Alpine struggling with a Cobra trooper on top of him. The Cobra soldier was straddling Alpine and had his gun across Alpine's neck, trying to choke the climber into submission. Alpine coughed and wheezed, fighting off the assault. From his white knuckles, Flint could tell Alpine was on the losing end. With a quick shout, Flint propelled himself forward into the Cobra trooper, catching him by surprise and knocking him to the ground. The two men slid towards the edge of the ledge, their bodies intertwining with the force at which Flint hurled himself. Flint held the soldier close to his chest and placed a well aimed right hook into the man's left cheek. "You didn't think I'd miss out on the fun now did you?" Flint reached to strike again, but the soldier easily deflected the blow. "Just more to take down," the man spat out. The soldier's arrogance inflamed Flint. He levied his weight to push the man back to the ground. The Cobra soldier met Flint's next punch with a right cross-punch, which barely phased Flint. "Try again," Flint retorted. He rose to his knees and returned the favor with a one, two punch that sent the man flying back to his side and skidding across the icy snow. Flint rose to his feet, shaking the snow off and took a hesitant step towards the soldier, but let him go; Alpine came first. Turning towards Alpine, Flint smiled his famous grin, remarking, "So, I leave you alone for . . ." and was cut off by Alpine's yell, "Behind you!"

Flint felt himself propelled forward and landed hard on his face, the soldier on his back, reaching around and grabbing him in a choke hold. Flint's training took over as his survival instincts kicked in. He was cognizant of only one thing, neutralize the enemy by any means possible. Flint grabbed the man's arm and sharply elbowed his side while flipping his body over. The soldier's grip loosened and Flint broke away, reassessing the situation. His opponent gingerly rose to his feet, slightly favoring his right leg. Remaining crouched, Flint swept his left leg, connecting solidly with the man's weak leg, sending him down into a heap. Down for only a second, the man cast off on his left leg and knocked into Flint, who hit the ground and skid across the snow and ice. Flint managed to kick himself up and met the man's right hook with one of his one. Smiling, Flint knew it was a street brawl turned ugly, just the way he preferred. Although he admired the discipline and training that the team's ninjas endured, give him an old-fashioned, fist-flying bout any day.

As the men circled each other, Alpine could only helplessly look on. He knew better than to cramp Flint's style unless called upon, but he was concerned with how dangerously close they were to the edge. A few more tumbles and they'd be over the cliff for sure. He waved his hands up and down, trying to signal to Flint to step away. Flint didn't understand Alpine's gestures and as he squinted at the climber, the soldier took advantage of the distraction to connect a right hook with Flint's jaw. It was a solid hit, knocking Flint to his six. The soldier went in for the kill, and Flint lifted his leg, sending it into the man's mid-section, tossing him over his head. As he tumbled over the cliff, the Cobra soldier frantically grabbed anything and everything, coming up with a fist full of Flint's jacket, pulling him along down the embankment.

Alpine stepped into action, throwing himself forward and grabbing the only thing possible, Flint's foot. The weight was too much, Alpine's grip loosened, and Flint started slipping down the side. _Damn, Jaye's gonna kill me_, was his one thought as he dug in, wrapping his fingers tight around the first object he could, Flint's shoelaces. Amazingly, the laces did not break. Alpine didn't have time to ponder the miracle so much as to wonder how he would get them out of this jam. As Alpine held on to Flint's shoelaces, Flint dangled over the side trying to shake the Cobra soldier. Alpine dug into the snow with his body, using his free hand and legs to counter the slow slide towards the edge. Alpine knew he couldn't hold on much longer, feeling the tendons in his arms strain and snap. "I can't keep this up," he screamed out.

"Working on it," Flint shouted back, trying to disengage the man. The soldier had a death grip on Flint's jacket and kicked his feet against the mountain's side, trying to gain some leverage. Flint gave up on the man and concentrated on his jacket. The zipper was stuck, and Flint felt Alpine's grip slipping. _Come on, come on_, frantically went through his head. This wasn't how he wanted to end it all. He was supposed to die an old man, surrounded by his family, starring out at his farm, not on some god-forsaken mountain top away from his loved ones. The zipper gave way and Flint started to peel off the jacket. He could see the terror in the soldier's eyes as the soldier protested and fought against the inevitable. With a wrenching move, Flint wiggled out of the jacket and watched as the soldier fell, his screams echoing off the rocks, missing the ledge below. Flint closed his eyes, wincing as he imagined the end.

Alpine felt the weight lessen and dug into the ground, trying to pull Flint up. Flint assisted, pushing up against the rocks, trying to clear the top. With a final heave, Alpine pulled Flint to safety and the men lay there, panting, gripping the solid earth in their hands. Flint turned his head towards Alpine, "Thanks there, I think I owe you one."

Alpine starred at Flint in disbelief, "How on earth?"

Flint chuckled, knowing where he was going, "The laces? Hey, you and Bazooka introduced me to a good thing. If they worked once, never know when you might need them again."

Alpine laughed, shaking his head. "I should have known my man, I should have known." Standing up, he held his hand out to Flint, "Come on, time to get you back." Alpine felt satisfied; he still managed to keep his promise and would continue to do so for as long as he was able.


	8. A Name Is a Name

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Intelligence Operations Center**

"But if your name is in the book, that should be it. It's your time."

The sound of Lady Jaye's question brought Flint back to the here and now. He leaned against a cubicle divider, arms folded, ear to the side straining to hear, and curious as to the response.

"No, sometimes your time is not your time."

"Then why would your name be in the book?"

"Because it is your time, no?"

"No, I mean, yes, no, that's not it. But, it is, but, either it is or it isn't." She paused, "How can it be but not be?" Lady Jaye shook her head in frustration. Although she enjoyed their "scholarly chats" as Giorgi liked to put it, she found his circumventions around normal conversational dialogue somewhat trying. She enjoyed learning from him; she just wished it didn't have to be so challenging. "Let me get this straight. How could your name be in the book, but it's not your time? I thought that was the whole point."

"Ah, I am not being clear, I will try again." Giorgi coughed and took on an authoritative air, or at least Flint imagined he did because Lady Jaye began laughing as Giorgi resumed his speech. "You see it is like this. If your name is in the book, you sign and it is your time. But it could be that your name is in the book and things happen. Someone could sign for you and what was your time will be theirs"

"How would someone else sign?"

"You are quite curious, this I enjoy. Ah, it takes an act of great courage and sacrifice, no? It would be an act of pure love."

"Pure love." There was a softness to her tone, one that caused Flint's heart to beat faster. It was the way she said the word, as if there was a person behind the thought. Could it be him? Did he dare think that she would be willing make such a sacrifice? And what about him, if it came down to it; taking someone's place in death? Would he be able to do it?

"Ah, I see that pleases you. Yes, pure love without motive. Love for love's sake alone. That is the type of thing that will help."

"Help? I don't know if it's such a big help to be gunning for a space on that list."

"Flint, I've been looking for you."

Flint jumped at the sound of his name. Standing before him was General Hawk, looking upon him with some mild amusement. Flint glanced down sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "I, um, I was just waiting for them to finish Sir. I wanted to give Lady Jaye a full briefing."

"At ease soldier." Hawk nodded to himself. Flint could tell by the amused look on Hawk's face that the general was not entirely convinced by his explanation. "Well, I think it is fine that we interrupt. I want Giorgi and Jaye in on the full briefing. Given what happened, I believe we may have to step up our timeframe. Please have them report to the main conference room ASAP."

"Yes Sir." Flint saluted his commanding officer.

Hawk turned away, paused, and then pivoted back to Flint, glancing around, ensuring that their conversation remained private. "Flint, one more thing…"

"Yes Sir?"

"I could use some help, well, with this tamale situation tonight."

"Not a problem Sir. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you Flint." Hawk resumed his exit.

"Oh, Sir. . ." Hawk looked back at Flint. "It's tamada Sir. You'll be the tamada."

Hawk nodded, "Tamada, right, tamada. You're a good man Flint. Tamada." The general left muttering "tamada" under his breath, punctuating each utterance with his hand as if physically acting out the word would get it to stick in his head.

Flint sighed shaking his head to himself. He realized he had just agreed to help write Hawk's toast for the evening. Not only did he have to make sure it was something Hawk would say, but he had to be respectful of Giorgi as a host and had to make sure it resonated with his teammates. The duties of a tamada were important to the Georgian people and Flint felt the pressure to honor their traditions, but to make them relevant for the audience. _Why do I let myself get into these things?_ But, he knew it was time to stop dawdling and face the music.

Flint poked his head around the divider, announcing his presence, "Hey, um, Hawk would like you to meet with the command team in the main conference room to assess the new intel." He hated being this tongue-tied around her, like an awkward school boy bringing an apple to a new teacher. It wasn't always like this, hadn't really ever been like this. He laughed on the inside. Who was he trying to fool? Of course it had been like this. Yes, in the beginning he was just a gangly kid, all arms and legs, desperately trying to find his balance. Not her though, she had always been cool and collected around him, often putting him in his place. As their relationship grew he found his confidence, not always, but it would be known to make an appearance from time to time. Sure he had his reputation around the team for being all bravado. She knew the real him though. She knew the man behind the mask. Underneath his macho exterior was just a gauche introverted kid from Wichita. Now things were different. It wasn't a lack of confidence on his part but a fear that there was too much confidence; that he dared presume what the future should be for him and for her. It was a new strange feeling this future that he imagined. He had never dared to think of it before. Now it was all he could think of and despite his inner assurance, deep down there was that tiny voice fearful he was wrong.

Lady Jaye looked up at the sound of his voice. For a split second, Flint saw happiness and longing in those eyes. It was a look he had come to take for granted. He found himself returning her gaze, unable to contain his delight that things between them were still on the right path. Only too late did he realize his mistake. His eagerness must have been a cue to her to step back for just as quickly the look was gone. Her eyes became iced over, cold and indifferent. The indifference was a slap to his face. He didn't dare speak up; he knew he deserved it. At least she still had feelings inside no matter how deep she was burying them. If only he could go back in time and approach it differently. It was probably the bane of all mankind, that being the males of mankind, to forever get it wrong. Wasn't this why Shakespeare's plays and poems, despite the distance of years from his language, lived on? The universal misunderstandings between men and women existed no matter the verbiage employed. But Flint knew that it would all change tonight. Tonight he would set things straight. He just had to make it to tonight.

"We will join you Flint. We were talking here and making way." Giorgi carefully stepped around the tension between the two soldiers. Flint was not the only one to notice the look in Lady Jaye's eyes; Giorgi had noticed it. He saw more though. He saw not only the look pass across Lady Jaye's face, but also the initial brightened expression on the warrant officer's visage and then the crushing blow of disappointment when his entrance was greeted with detachment. Giorgi had been a silent observer of the two from the day he began his service to the team. Bits and pieces reminded him of his own tumultuous start with his Marta. This Lady Jaye was so like Marta in her stubbornness and independence. And this one called Flint, he found himself cringing at situations when it was best that the large man should just keep his mouth shut. He would learn; all men did. It just had to play itself out in time.

Giorgi felt a certain kinship with these particular soldiers, given the amount of time he spent with them, more than any of the other team members. They treated him like an equal, putting up with his difficulties in getting his thoughts across in their language. He also appreciated that they, like Hawk and Duke, took the time to speak with him outside the parameters of the mission. It made him feel more like a team member than the outsider he truly was. If he could help them with their problem, then he knew he would feel like he had returned their kindness.

Lady Jaye, following Giorgi's lead, looked up and addressed Flint, professional and reserved, "Thank you Flint. I think we've made some headway on the bank accounts and should present that information as well." She rose from her seat and began gathering the scattered folders together. Flint reached over to help her but she batted his hand away, "It's okay, I have it."

"I don't mind. Let me help."

"No, it's fine. I don't want to get the files mixed up." Her words came out sharper than she expected and she cringed inside at her terseness. It wasn't that she wanted to fight; she just wished he would leave her alone. Or better yet, just be done with it. Couldn't he see what he was doing? Why did he insist in this game of pulling and pushing? It didn't matter. She knew what had to be done and if need be, she would be the one to do it.

Flint was not to be dissuaded and continued in his insistence to help her. He wanted to perform some task no matter how menial to make her see that he was still there. His persistence only succeeded in striking a match and Lady Jaye looked up at him, eyes blazing even though her face remained calm. "I have it. Thank you."

The last words were spat out and her look cut him to the bone. He found himself in retreat mode. "Okay, see you at the meeting." He looked at Giorgi, gave a quick nod of his head and turned on his heels, hurrying out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him.

As soon as he was out of sight, Lady Jaye allowed herself to release her pent up anger and slumped down in her seat. She hadn't meant to sound as mad as she did. It wasn't that she was mad, just frustrated. One minute he had no time for her and the next he was like a lost puppy dog starved for her attention. When they began their relationship in earnest, she knew it would be anything but a cake walk. Each had duties and responsibilities that trumped whatever rights they may have wanted to claim on the other. Theirs would never be a textbook romance with flowers and meandering walks after dinner. But lately she found herself wanting more, wanting the flowers and the walks. Or, if she couldn't experience the typical physical manifestations of a relationship, she at least desired the words confirming that this was more than just an association of flesh and convenience. It wasn't entirely fair to lay the blame at his feet alone. She hadn't exactly been forthright in expressing her inner desires and he wasn't a mind reader. She had just hoped he would reach the conclusion on his own.

"He is your lover, no?"

"What!" Girogi's question shocked her. Scanning her memory of their past conversations, she knew she never had said anything to him about her relationship with Flint, not even a hint. Frazzled, she tried to recover, "No, no of course not."

"I am sorry, I pry. But, I could not help but to notice that he seems to care a great deal for you."

"It's not like that."

"No, no, it is true. You do not see the way that he looks at you? He was seeking your approval but you did not give it. What is wrong?"

"It's, it's just that . . ." Lady Jaye trailed off, "Nothing, nothing's wrong. Nothing's happening. We really shouldn't be discussing this." She started to rise up from the table, but Giorgi placed a hand on her wrist.

"No, you are right. But you hurt. I do not like to see you like this. After the time we have spent together, I believe we have become friends, no?"

"No, no we have." She was beginning to soften and sat back down.

"Then, as a friend, I will help you, no?"

She let out a half-hearted laugh. "There's nothing to help. I appreciate your concern, I do. But this," she let her breath out in a long trail, "this is just a situation that has to work itself out. Things will be fine."

"But it will not be fine if you are angry. It will only be worse. You must say what you feel and not hide behind a mask. This took me a long time to learn. But learn it I did, my Marta made sure of that and I am a better person for it."

"Marta? Is Marta your wife? I didn't know you were married."

"Ah yes, I was married, but Marta's time passed too soon. We had a beautiful life together while we could. She taught me many things and I probably still have much to learn."

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, but there is no need for you to feel sorry. I had so much happiness with her. I feel sorry that you do not have this feeling, that you do not realize the happiness you yourself bring."

"But it's not the right kind." Lady Jaye froze and realized she had said too much. She said out loud what she feared inside; whatever it was they shared, it wasn't what she needed in the long term. What she wanted was commitment, the one thing Flint would probably never offer. He seemed to be at ease with the vagaries of their pairing, even preferring it. She did for a time as well. That time was beginning to pass as she found herself more reliant and dependent upon him. She began to believe that this would be it, true love and a partnership forever. Things weren't that easy. Just as it had once before, she could see it happening again, it was ending.

Giorgi placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, "I think you may find that you are wrong. You bring happiness. That is always the right kind."

"That's just the problem. We don't make each other happy." Lady Jaye paused, "In fact, I find I make him miserable most days."

"This I do not believe."

Although she knew she shouldn't let her relationship with Giorgi go beyond the professional, she couldn't help herself. There was something in his eyes, an honesty she yearned to embrace. It was tiring, playing this part when all she really wanted to do was unload her thoughts and escape the burdens of cool, calm, collected Lady Jaye. She sunk further into her chair, "Believe it. He's been avoiding me lately and something's amiss. I don't know what happened, but it's not the same. I think I used to make him laugh. Now, now I can't even talk to him. I, I wish he would just," she closed her eyes and slowly shook her head, "just end it," she looked up at Giorgi, "because I don't have the courage. I'm too weak."

"I think not!" Giorgi roared back, stunned at her attitude. "This is not right. There is no end." He reached across the space and cupped her chin in his hand, leaning in close, "There are dark days ahead and we need to hold on tightly to those we fight for. You will find there is more courage in holding on then in letting go."

His fingers griped tighter and Lady Jaye raised her hand, trying to peel them away. He was frightening her. She tried to pull away, "Giorgi, ow, you're hurting me, please. . ."

Giorgi snapped to and quickly released her as if he had been holding on to a hot pan for too long. "I, I am sorry," he averted his eyes, embarrassed by his actions, "I have overstepped."

Lady Jay resumed collecting the folders. Slightly shaken, she wasn't sure what to make of his actions. It was her fault, of this she was certain. She had been the one to overstep professional decorum and she knew she had to watch herself. "It's fine. We should get to the meeting."

Giorgi nodded, relieved that she appeared to have waived the matter off. They were back to normal. But for Lady Jaye, there was no normal to which she could go back. Nothing on this mission had been normal. This was just another sign, further confirmation that anything that happened, she had only herself to blame.


	9. Falling Into Place

A/N: I can't believe I started this so long ago. Hopefully if you read this before you will forgive me for my absence and will enjoy once more. If you are new to the story, I hope you enjoy. Life kind of got in the way for a bit and suddenly free time was gone (babies tend to do that I suppose). But now we're all settling in and as he sleep through the night, I get a little more time to myself. I'm reloading the previous chapters. I didn't change the plot, just some grammar issues and sharpened (well, I hope I did) some of the dialogue. If you read before you can probably just skim if you need to refresh. I know how this will end and updates will definitely be more frequent. Thanks again for reading. I really appreciate it.

Flint wandered down a barren hall, trying to shrug off Lady Jaye's rebuke. Surely it was only a manifestation of the work load stress faced by all. The whole team had been pulling non-stop shifts since arrival. As a result, the area was just a massive pressure cooker. He had no doubt reached her at her boiling point. Sighing inwardly, his inner voice wouldn't let him be so complacent. If anything he was only getting back what he deserved. In his haste to effectuate his plans, the unfortunate result was that he'd kept her at a distance. It wasn't intentional. It just was. As he saw the effect, he wanted to talk to her, to set things straight. She was always with someone, however, and always the wrong person. If it was someone like Cover Girl, someone discrete, there would be no problem asking for a moment of her time. Get her around some of the other team members, especially Mainframe and Ripcord, and he knew their private life wouldn't be for long. He respected her too much to have a simple request turned into fodder for gambling minds. He also valued his privacy and appearance of authority. If the others saw him in all his awkward glory, he knew something would be lost in the translation. It wouldn't be their respect per se, but there would be a certain sense of invincibility forever faded. It was probably all in his mind. The soldiers under his command no doubt hung kick me signs on his back when it was turned. It didn't matter. It was what he needed to believe in order to be an effective leader. He couldn't be seen as he really was. Of that there was no doubt. His brow reflected his troubled thoughts as he entered the conference room.

"What's eating you?" Duke pulled out a chair for Flint. They were the first to arrive.

"Nothing."

"Right, I believe that one."

Duke's observation confounded Flint. Twice in one day those closest to him were pulling no punches. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, I know you better than that. You don't think I haven't seen that look before?"

"What look?"

"That look."

"Hauser, if you haven't figured it out by now, most people aren't like you and they don't look at themselves in the mirror 24-7."

"Well they would if they were so good looking."

Flint shook his head in mock disgust at the man while continuing to shuffle his papers.

"Seriously, I know that look." Duke leaned back against the chair, cupping his hands behind his head. "Face it, you can't ignore her forever."

Duke's remark stuck in Flint's gut. It wasn't so much the statement as the way it was delivered. There was a cavalier manner to Duke's delivery that ate away at Flint's core. It was a certain "I told you so" self-satisfaction. Flint steamed on the inside, mulling the simple statement over in his mind. It was true that Duke had warned him about the difficulties in starting a relationship with a fellow Joe and yes, Flint didn't necessarily have the best track record when it came to matters of the heart, but if there was one person who was supposed to be behind you, wouldn't it be your friend? But Duke wasn't. Flint could see that. Duke was only there to admonish him when something went wrong, when Flint inevitably messed up. Duke was the one to remind Flint that he would revert to his old womanizing ways. That in the end, he was who he was and would break her heart. Flint clenched his fist behind his back. It was clear to him now; Duke didn't care if he was happy, Duke just wanted to be right. As far as Duke was concerned, Flint would always be just a gigolo in warrant officer's clothing. The anger built up seeking an outlet. Flint stood there until something snapped in his head. Unable to control his rage, he lashed out, pulling back on Duke's chair, causing the man to tumble head over heels to the floor.

Looking up in shock and surprise Duke exclaimed, "What, are we in kindergarten now? Sheesh, get a grip man."

Flint felt like an idiot. It was an elementary school move. Any ribbing coming, he deserved. Swallowing hard he reached down to take Duke's extended hand and help the man back up to his feet all the while practicing an apology in his head.

Duke was not about to let bygones be bygones though and yanked hard on Flint's unsuspecting hand, pulling him off his feet and down to the ground. "Now, we're even."

To say they were even, however, implied that Flint believed Duke's response by no means escalated the conflict. Flint had no such belief and any hope of détente was cast aside as Flint retaliated, pitching himself towards Duke and pinning his shoulders to the carpet with a textbook junior high wresting move. "This is none of your business."

Duke arched his back, throwing Flint off balance. Duke rolled over on top of a squirming Flint, trying to press his back down to the floor. Flint struggled against Duke, pushing against the floor with his left hand, trying to keep his left shoulder up. Duke fixed his gaze on Flint, "It is my business. I told you this was a bad moo . . . . umph!," Duke felt the breath knocked out of him as Flint summed his strength and with an extra burst of force butted his shoulder into Duke's chest, sending the man sliding into the wall. Flint managed to raise himself to his knees and crouched down, preparing for the counter. Duke was furious and pushed off the wall for extra momentum. The men locked arms around their shoulders, heads pressing together, each using their legs for stability and strength, trying to take the other down.

"This wasn't a bad move," Flint spat out, "This doesn't concern you."

Duke pushed Flint back, but Flint steeled himself and was able to lunge forward and gain ground. Duke countered, "When I have to go in and clean up your mess, it does concern me. This isn't Major Cooper's daughter. I can't do it, not this time." Duke inserted the knife, "Just end it and be done with it," and then twisted it, "you should be good at that."

"No!" Flint threw Duke back and landed on him with a loud thud. There was a look in Flint's eyes that threw Duke for a loop. He didn't resist as Flint drove his back into the carpet. Duke held up his hands in surrender and remained on the ground, looking his sparring partner in the face. Flint eased up on his grip, the sorrow and confusion evident on his face, "I, I didn't know. It's not like that, not at all. That's not me. Not now, not anymore." Flint paused; it was time to let him know, "I love her."

"Gentlemen, please! Take your frustrations out on Cobra, not on my conference room!" Flint and Duke turned toward the sound. Unable to see above the conference room table, all they could make out between the table legs was the meticulous shine of General Hawk's shoes and several other boots belonging to various members of the team. Flint pushed himself off Duke and the two men rose to their knees, heads just visible above the massive table. Hawk stood there, steam rising from his head. Just to his left, Giorgi was biting his lip, making an effort to keep from laughing aloud. Next to Giorgi was Lady Jaye, eyebrows raised, arms folded, quizzically taking in the scene. To Hawk's right was a delighted Beachhead, no doubt thinking of the liberties Hawk would allow him at the next PT session. Alpine, standing behind Beachhead, made no attempt to hide his amusement. Scarlett, recently arrived, cocked her head, surveying the unusual scene spread out before her.

"Sorry Sir." Flint gingerly stood up, offering a hand to assist Duke. Duke rose and offered the original chair to Flint, who sat down without a word. Duke picked his former chair up off the floor and sat down, eyes forward, hands clasped in front of him on the table. The other team members filed into the room, taking various spots around the table as Hawk positioned himself at the head.

As Lady Jaye passed around file folders, Duke leaned across the space between him and Flint, "Listen, I'm sorry. I was wrong." Hawk cleared his throat, glancing in Duke's direction. Duke raised his hand in a short salute, signifying that the general had his full attention. Hawk began to speak again, but Duke wasn't finished, "It's just that, the way things look . . .," his voice trailed off as Hawk raised an eyebrow.

"I know." Flint whispered out of the side of his mouth, attempting to avoid another stare from Hawk.

"If you need me to do something," Duke questioned back, "let me know."

"Thanks, I think . . ." Flint found himself suddenly cut-off by an incensed general.

"That's it, enough. Duke, Flint, outside, now!" The general was fuming as he pushed away from the table and stomped out into the hallway. The two men exchanged nervous glances and dutifully followed their leader out the door. Those left in the conference room were treated to an earful when Hawk started yelling before Duke could close the door behind him.

Alpine winced, "Oh that did not sound good at all."

Outside the room, Hawk continued on his tirade, "I've had it with you two. Either you're at each other's throats or you're thick as thieves. I wish I could say chose, but neither option is appealing to me right now." The general began to pace in front of the two men, thinking out loud. "I need you to step up and be leaders. Do what you have to on your own time, but be an example on duty." Hawk stopped, facing the men down, "Can you do that? Will you step up? So help me god I will bust the two of you back down to private so fast your heads will spin. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Sir!" both men exclaimed, snapping to attention.

Hawk waived them away, "Stand down. I know you can. Just be mindful of your personal selves and no wrestling matches in my conference room. Understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"So, I have to know, why the interest in the Greco-roman arts?"

"Hawk, about that. . ." Duke pondered for a way to explain.

"Actually, Sir, about that, I've wanted to speak with you." Flint stepped forward, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, nervous in his pronouncement. He looked back at Duke, nodding that he had this one.

Duke took that as his sign to leave, "I'll head back in."

Hawk looked back and forth between the two men. He couldn't figure out if this was something they had planned or what else could possibly be in store. Hawk thought to a comment made by an old college buddy who had gone on to become a lawyer. As Hawk sweated it out through training, his buddy would complain about the rigors of law school, particularly the social digression of his classmates. Hawk's friend compared law school to experiencing high school all over again. There were the leaders, the followers, the jocks, and the outcasts, even though law school had nothing to do with any of it. It was something about the experience—something about being thrown together—that brought out the basic instincts in his buddy's fellow classmates. Hawk always thought his buddy took school too personally until he saw the exact same regression take place in the G.I. Joe team. There was something about being constantly surrounded by the same people taking on the same challenges that brought out the juvenile in all of them. Hawk often felt as if he was chaperoning a high school field trip than commanding an elite fighting unit. He took the good with the bad and if roughhousing with your friend was what it took to get the job done, so be it. He didn't care how the Rangers or Seals handled things. This was different. Somehow it all worked, his many headaches aside.

Hawk absentmindedly waved Duke off, bracing himself for whatever Flint had to say.

Once Duke shut the door Flint began, "Sir, as we've discussed, Alison, I mean Lady Jaye, and I have been seeing each other in a more, personal capacity." Flint fidgeted nervously, folding and unfolding his arms, uncertain of how to proceed. Never one to be at a loss for words, Flint found that the one thing he could always depend on through life, his loquaciousness, was failing him miserably. _Personal capacity, what on earth does that even mean?_ Flint mentally chided himself for not being better prepared.

Hawk, for his part, didn't reveal his amusement at Flint's apparent discomfort. Well aware of Flint and Lady Jaye's relationship, Hawk found it best to ignore it for the most part. Both maintained a strict level of professionalism and he found no reason to single them out. Occasionally the general would receive reports quoting various military rules and regulations and pointing out that it was not good form for the warrant officer to be "dating" a soldier under his command. Hawk could trace the reports to two sources: one, Shipwreck and his buddies trying to stir up the betting pool and two, Beachhead annoyed that the strict letter of the law was not being obeyed. Taking it all in stride, Hawk learned long ago that there were better controversies with which he should occupy himself. Besides, the only two people he cared about in the equation seemed perfectly capable of addressing matters. Lady Jaye never used the arrangement to influence assignments or obtain favorable treatment and Flint rarely brought up the topic, usually only to arrange for joint leave or to explain that a decision made was not impacted by his feelings. Hawk trusted his gut and his gut trusted them. If Flint was taking the trouble to directly address the matter with his general, Hawk knew it had to be good.

Flint took a few gulps of air before proceeding, "I realize this may not be the best timing on my part, but there hasn't been a good time to speak with you. Believe me, I've tried. But, the fact of the matter is I care very deeply for Lady Jaye. I promise that our dedication to the team will never waiver and we will continue to respect our teammates in our private dealings with each other. I also can assure you that . . ."

"Soldier, do you have a point to this rambling?" Hawk cut Flint off. Flint's ethical standards were never in question and he needed to hurry the man along. There were other matters that needed attending.

Flint decided it was best to just plunge in with his request. Glancing around, Flint let out in a rush, "I would like your permission to make my relationship with Lady Jaye more, public."

"Public?" Hawk had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It was humorous to him to him to see his normally quite confident third so tongue-tied.

"Yes, more public, or official, or . . . ." Discussing this matter with General Hawk was akin to Flint's first discussion about sex with his parents. The thought of his mom mentioning words like, well, Flint to this day found he couldn't even think of his mom saying those words. Although he couldn't remember the exact words, he could recall the scene perfectly. His lanky junior high self perched on his bed with his mom on one side and his father on the other. His father had coughed a lot, looking generally uncomfortable in his skin. His mother had taken charge of the discussion and tried her best to instill the lesson in her son's head before the high school football players had the opportunity to have a little fun at his expense. She was clearly amused by the circumstances and applied her take charge attitude to the process. As a college professor, she was methodical and left no stone unturned. When the time came, as Flint's mom anticipated, he found it was he that bestowed the locker room wisdom that day and not the senior linebackers. Flint was thankful for his mom's foresight, but prayed he would never have to discuss those things with her ever again. This conversation was only slightly better than that afternoon.

Fortunately for Flint, Hawk had an inkling where the man was taking the conversation and was able to make the jump. Saving Flint from the threat of an all out panic attack, Hawk acquiesced to the request, "Ah, official it is. You have my permission."

"Thank you Sir. I appreciate this. It means a lot."

"You're welcome soldier. I trust you. Don't prove me wrong." Hawk paused, curiosity getting the better of him. "Are you prepared?"

"Yes."

Hawk raised his eyebrows.

Flint thought for a moment. "Well, mostly. I think so." Relaxing, Flint confessed, "Not in the least bit. Despite every preparation, I will most certainly flub it in the end."

"Now that's what I like to hear. Let's get back in there; we have some Cobras to catch."

As Flint was stuttering before General Hawk, Duke entered the conference room, drawing the door shut behind him. He had an idea what was transpiring and wanted to give the men their privacy. He was eager to be the first one to shake Flint's hand. Finally the man was doing something right for a change. At last he was revealing his relationship with Lady Jaye to Hawk. It wasn't that Hawk didn't know, of that there could be no question. Nothing happened on the base or among the team members without Hawk having some knowledge of it. But to confront the general and let it out, well, in Duke's book that took guts. It was a sign that his friend was maturing and that just maybe there was something to his relationship with Lady Jaye. Maybe he wouldn't have to step in this time. Duke smiled at that thought. Granted, Duke had no tangible proof of Flint's great revelation. He was just certain there was no other explanation.

"Well, what happened? You can't just sit there all smug in your glory and not share with us peons." Alpine raised his hands in a questioning gesture, encouraging Duke to spill the beans. Duke glared back at the climber causing Alpine to gulp out loud and pull his collar away from his neck.

After a passage of what seemed to Alpine to be 30 minutes, but to a clock was only one, Alpine tried again, "So, what did General Hawk want. . ." Alpine was cut off by a sharp "ahem" from across the table. Alpine looked up into the narrowing eyes of Beachhead. Alpine opened his mouth to continue, but quickly closed it when Beachhead leaned forward across the table. Holding his hands up in defeat, Alpine glanced around at his other teammates, "What? You're all going to just sit there? No one's curious? You're all too serious I tell you, too serious for me." He folded his arms and met Beachhead's stare. Beachhead leaned in closer and then looked away in disgust when the jovial climber blew him a kiss. "Yes!" Alpine shouted, "got you!"

Alpine zipped up at the sound of the door opening. Hawk and Flint strode back into the room ignoring the perplexed looks from most of their colleagues. Beachhead was still busy trying to erase the image of Alpine's puckering lips from his mind. Hawk stood front and center and Flint took up his seat next to Duke. Duke, using a move perfected back in high school, appeared to be engaged in Hawk's presentation of the known facts concerning Cobra's operations while whispering to Flint out the side of his mouth, "Well? Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"You know, tell him?"

"What?"

"Did you tell him?"

Flint didn't know how Duke figured out his secret; he decided to take it on faith that maybe it was true that Duke did know him better than he was apt to give credit. Keeping his eyes on Hawk, Flint took a sharp breath and stated, "I did." He couldn't help but smile after speaking those words. Finally things were falling into place.

Duke was satisfied. At last Flint was growing up. Duke turned his attention back to the general standing at the head of the conference table. His view was slightly blocked by a gathering of straight red hair in a perfect pony tail. As it swayed with its owner's movements, Duke found himself captivated by the subtle golden highlights that flickered in the pale light of the overhead florescent bulbs. Not exactly the most romantic of settings, he tried to ignore the thoughts flooding his brain. Those ideas had no right being there. It was a kind of agony being close to the one thing to which he knew he had no rights, the one thing he couldn't have. Flint noticed his friend's gaze. Even though all sorts of words popped into his head beginning with glass houses and ending with stones, he couldn't bring himself to make the obvious smart aleck comment. If there was one lesson he could take away, it was that relationships were hard enough without the rest of the world casting a critical eye in your direction. Flint was fully aware of the silent figure blocking Duke's intentions. As hard as the situation could be for him, there were scenarios he would never want to face, unrequited love being at the top of the list.

Hawk called for the lights to be dimmed and pulled down a screen from the wall. Pictures began to flash before the group. First the perimeter of the suspected Cobra base and then the individual buildings tagged by Alpine and Flint. The two men had performed admirably on their mission and Mainframe was able to magnify the digital images so that the details of the buildings and Cobra personnel came out sharp and clear. There was no question it was a Cobra operation. The only issue left open was what Cobra was trying to accomplish in this remote mountain location.

The lights were brought back up and the picture of the mysterious warehouse-type building remained on the screen. "This is what we believe is Cobra's true interest in being here. Our intelligence tells us that Cobra is developing new weaponry that may have the capability to clone existing forces."

"Clone?" Scarlett studied the picture on the screen, perplexed by the connection. "What do you mean clone?"

"Good question," Hawk resumed, "not cloned per se, but more of a duplication. Georgian analysts working with our team believe that Cobra is working on a way to mask their equipment so that it appears to double before the naked eye."

"Double?" Now Beachhead was intrigued.

"Yes, double, for lack of a better term." Hawk's attention was diverted to the opening door, revealing a cautious Mainframe stepping across the threshold. "Ah, Mainframe. I was just trying to explain the technology. I think you will do a far more admirable job."

Mainframe suddenly felt uncomfortable and exposed in the spotlight. "Um, sure Sir." Mainframe stared out at the sea of faces and spotted Jaye, a friendly face. She winked at him as he pulled his collar away from his neck. Hawk sidestepped around Mainframe, taking a nearby seat to allow the man to take front and center. "Um, thanks, um." The computer tech mumbled through an opening before getting to the heart of the matter. "Um, I'm not sure what Hawk has told you, but what we believe is that Cobra has worked out a technology that in essence creates a refraction of an image and displaces its position due to large vertical density variations on the surface of the object that is being refracted."

Mainframe felt confident once he presented his explanation. His teammates felt otherwise and his remark was met with a response of blank faces. Mainframe felt like kicking himself and searched his head, trying to think of another way to explain. "Um, you guys are familiar with mirages? Well, what Cobra is trying to do is an advanced form of a mirage. They're creating technology that plays tricks on the naked eye. It makes a person believe they are seeing two or more of something when there is only one there."

"Is this related to the matter replicator you and Beachhead worked on?"

"No Flint, well, no, let me take that back. It is and it isn't. We've been in contact with Doctor Brunning and this is a quick fix until they can fix the generator that you and Jaye destroyed. What they're trying to do is buy some time. Confuse their enemies and keep an element of surprise. But this is pretty serious stuff. The problem with mirages is that they are just that, you get close enough and you can figure it out. Disturbances in the atmosphere are bending light because of temperature differentials and your eyes can pick up on that. There's usually some distance between the real object and what you perceive that causes the mirage to shimmer and flicker. We think they're working on a way to get a close object refraction so that the mirage is right there and with less air mass to distort the picture. Your mind tricks you and you really think it's there. There isn't a tell-tale giveaway. By the time you've figured it out they've hit you with something else. It will be a costly distraction if they can pull it off." Mainframe looked over at Hawk for the save. The computer tech had enough of the stage for now.

Hawk motioned Mainframe to take a seat. "Thank you Mainframe." Turning to the group, he resumed his briefing, "Georgian National Guard reports indicate that Cobra may be successful in using this technology on some of its planes." Hawk brought back on the screen the pictures from Flint and Alpine's mission. "Intelligence indicates that Cobra is testing its equipment out of this base, and specifically this building. We have been tasked with neutralizing this threat through a small scale covert operation.

"Flint, I want you to lead up a small team to take out this building and bring back anything you can. Alpine and Scarlett, I want you on this team. Snake-eyes will arrive this evening and can round out the group. I cannot stress enough that this mission must be as covert as possible. You will leave no trace. The government will deny that we ever had permission to be here and will disavow any association. Mainframe will offer any assistance you need.

"Beachhead and Lady Jaye, I'd like you to stay after for a minute."

"Yes Sir," both soldiers responded in unison.

"Good then, any questions?"

"Sir, if we know what Cobra is up to why don't we guarantee success and send in a full scale force? We have the capacity. Why don't we use it?"

"Beachhead, I would love to send in a full scale force, but that option is not available to us."

"But Sir, full scale operations are the only guarantee we have of neutralizing any potential threat. We can't go in with anything else. It's too risky." Beachhead persisted.

"Our mission parameters are clear. We may only investigate third party hostile activities and neutralize any immediate threats. The Georgian government is our host and has made their position clear. We are not to commence full scale operations without prior authorization. We do not have that authorization."

Behind his balaclava, Hawk couldn't see Beachhead's look of disgust. Hawk didn't have to see it to know it was there. Experience had taught him that when Beachhead disagreed with one of his tactical decisions, the drill sergeant would have no qualms about voicing his opinions at every available opportunity.

"But Sir. . . "

"Beachhead, are my instructions clear?"

"Yes."

"Then I will expect no further issues with carrying them out." Hawk's stern tone gave way to a more gentle voice, which he directed toward everyone present, "Know this, there is no one more important to me than my family. Although I know you have all sacrificed and cannot be with your family during this time, I don't view it that way. Right now I am with my family. You are all my family and I protect my family at all costs. All costs. If at any time I understand the situation to be other than what it is, if I feel that the parameters will put my family in harm's way, I will pull my family out. Of that, have no doubt." General Hawk maintained his composure during his delivery but the passion in his eyes was evident to all in the room. The meaning behind his message was clear; I have your back. There will be no shame in walking away. The soldiers present knew that no matter what obstacles the U.S. or Georgian governments put up, Hawk would knock them down in an instant if it meant the safety of his team. Above all things, Hawk placed his team first.

Hawk stopped his pacing and stood at the center of the room, "We're all in agreement?" He scanned each and every face, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation. Unbeknownst to them, General Hawk felt that if any of his men were not with him it wouldn't be prudent to go forward and he would pull the team out. He would take the heat from the jugglers, he didn't care. "Good then." Hawk pulled out his chair and in sitting down, affected a more casual air. "Tonight, for many of you, is usually a time of reflection and time to be spent in the company of your loved ones. I realize that I am a poor substitute, but I would like to try to make tonight special for everyone, no matter belief or creed. Giorgi has graciously offered to share his heritage with us by hosting a traditional Georgian dinner feast known as a soupra? Is that correct?"

All eyes turned to Giorgi who seemed to fold into himself, embarrassed at the sudden attention. As always though, his eyes glimmered with laughter and life. "Ah General Hawk, you are too kind, much too kind. It is a supra." Giorgi gained his confidence as he began to address the room. Discussing the traditions of his homeland gave him great happiness and he was looking forward to being able to share the ancient feast. "You see, a supra is like a banquet at which there is much food, wine, toasting, and singing. But this is not all. It is more than just a dinner, no? We Georgians connect with our history and ancestors through the ritual of the meal.

"For each supra has a tamada, which would be a, um, toastmaster, to you. The host chooses the tamada, and I have chosen General Hawk to be my tamada. General Hawk will lead us off in toasts. I also have it on good authority that Flint here has participated in a supra and will be able to fill in any blanks."

"Sounds great." Alpine clapped his hands in approval, "Now, when you're talking food, what kind of food are we talking here?" The climber looked at Giorgi suspiciously for he had visions of roasted bugs and assorted vermin that he wouldn't normally touch with a ten foot pole, that is, unless there was no other available option.

"Ah, the food is good and plentiful. We will have salads, breads, potatoes, roasts, so much food. I have been talking with, um, Roadstop I believe?"

"Roadblock!" a few called out.

"Yes, Mr. Roadblock. He is an amazing learner and is working with some of the staff right now to prepare the feast. He said the likes of this feast will be sure to tame any beast. We will also be kept full with excellent Georgian wine. You will not go hungry and I would be so honored if you would all attend as my guests, no?"

"Giorgi, I can guarantee you that any man who is able will be there." Hawk laughed, "If there is food and drink to be had, the Joes will be there." Hawk addressed his remaining comments to the Joes, "Please encourage your teammates to attend if they can. I look forward to seeing you all tonight. Meeting adjourned."

As the group shuffled out, Lady Jaye and Beachhead remained behind, each curious as to Hawk's request. Flint debated waiting outside the room for Jaye, but Giorgi led the man away under the pretense that he needed help planning that night's feast. In reality, most of the preparations were underway, but Giorgi thought that the big man might make more of a spectacle lingering about. The big man had much to learn and Giorgi thought he might just be the person to depart a few words of wisdom to assist the big man in dealing with his courtship woes.

As soon as the last man cleared the room, Hawk motioned for Beachhead to shut the door. It was time to be serious once more.


	10. An Odd Couple

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Main Conference Room**

A/N: I have to give credit where credit is due. I wouldn't have this version of Beachhead and Lady Jaye without the superior writing of Slayne and Abernathy (how I wish Abernathy finished the story about the competition) before me. I like the idea of there being interaction before the team and maybe unrequited feelings between the two characters. I also borrowed the "Jaye Bird" from Abernathy. If you have a chance and haven't done so already, check out their stories.

Chapter 10:

"Thank you for staying." Hawk motioned Lady Jaye and Beachhead to the chairs across from him. The two soldiers settled down and waited for the General to begin.

"Based on new intelligence, we have reason to believe that Cobra's involvement in this region isn't as isolated as testing new weaponry." Hawk reached into his stack of papers and pulled out a redweld stamped "Classified/Top Secret."

"The bigger threat we fear is that Cobra is trying to set-up a stronghold in this region. Potentially, they may be looking for a home base, maybe a host country. As the Soviet Union collapses, the Eastern Block will crumble. There will be many nations in turmoil. We know from Borovia that this is Cobra's game now.

"CIA and Interpol have been tracking Cobra contacts with a number of the Soviet block states both financially and militarily. We think Cobra Commander is sniffing around here, maybe the Ukraine. We need more time, but it never seems to be on our side."

Hawk pulled out a file folder and passed the contents to Lady Jaye. It was a series of black and white photographs. Hawk waited for Lady Jaye to examine the pictures before passing them to Beachhead. As Beachhead began his study of the images, Hawk proceeded, "Last week Interpol agents snapped these pictures in Berlin." Lady Jaye took the first picture back from Beachhead. It was a grainy, far-away shot of what appeared to be a bank building. Her curiosity piqued, Lady Jaye leaned over Beachhead's shoulder and studied the next picture. It was more in focus and showed a close-up of the sign, "Weitgehend Geschaftsbank."

Lady Jaye looked up, "A bank?"

"Exactly." Hawk reached into his file and pulled out more papers, passing them first to Beachhead. Beachhead glanced at the papers, noting that they were in German. His German was rusty at best, but some of the words popped out. The papers had something to do with a corporation, at least that much he could decipher. He handed them over to Lady Jaye.

Lady Jaye took the papers and began to shuffle through them. German was never her strong suit and she took her time as she struggled in the translation. She hated that there was one language out there that seemed to best her. Although many scholars claim English was the harder language, Lady Jaye disagreed and was thankful her mother tongue was mostly gender neutral and didn't add on every word that came before it. Slowly spelling the letters out, the documents revealed themselves to be a corporation filing with the FRG corporations office. If the documents were affiliated with the bank in the pictures, it meant that the bank was a subsidiary of Deutsche Weitgehend Handelsuntanehmen AG. Lady Jaye repeated the words out loud.

"That's a mouthful," Beachhead remarked.

"I know this. Let me think." Lady Jaye closed her eyes and pictured the words in her head, trying to associate them with a tangible object. She had a photographic memory, which served her well in this line of work. Thinking back to her German classes at Bryn Mawr, the flashcards she created to assist in memorization flipped through her mind like a Rolodex to which only she had access. Like a slot machine lining up all jackpots, her mind hit the trifecta, "German Extensive Enterprises?"

Beachhead took in the meaning of her words. Whenever extensive and enterprises were mentioned in the same breath, the terrible twins couldn't be too far behind.

Hawk nodded his head, pleased that the soldiers were following. He passed out more pictures. "These pictures were taken of people entering and leaving the bank."

Beachhead was the first to speak, "It's them, isn't it? The damn twins."

Hawk again nodded his assent. "Yes, we do believe it is Tomax and Xamot. It appears that, at least financially, Cobra is making headway. When the bank filed its corporate charters, the name sounded a warning bell with German authorities and Interpol agents. The United States had been tracking the twins' activities, but reached an impasse in the paper trail. Interpol wants to go in, but given the state of the world at the moment, it finds itself spread thin. Because of our dealings with Cobra, we've been asked to round out the roster.

"I've recommended you two to assist because, besides your German language ability, no matter how rusty," Hawk winked at Lady Jaye, "I was always impressed with how you handled the Aero Flot mission. Let me remind you that the stakes for this are even higher. I have no doubt you will not let me down. You should fly out tomorrow and will meet with Agent Dahl, your contact, the next day. He's a good fellow and was with the Special Air Service. I remember him from my Army days. We had a few joint exercises together. He's sharp and won't mess around. I don't have to say be careful."

Hawk flipped through the remainder of his file, grimacing slightly when he came to the end of its contents. Hawk stood up, "I left your detail orders in my office. You can't go anywhere without those. Needless to say you will have a cover. The information should be in your dossiers. Review those and I'll go get your orders." Hawk passed out two more file folders and disappeared out the door, leaving Beachhead and Lady Jaye to their thoughts.

Beachhead settled into the seat as he flipped through the briefing papers. It seemed simple enough until his eyes caught sight of the cover. Cold sweat broke out across his brow and he was glad Lady Jaye couldn't see it. Of all the things in the world, of all the identities, husband and wife? He dug further. They would pose as a couple looking to make the kind of investments to which only the twins could provide access. She would be the talker, he would be the silent enforcer. If something went wrong, she would talk them down. If that didn't work, he would bring the force. He didn't see her liking this scenario at all. He gulped silently, waiting for the maelstrom to ensue.

Strangely, his ears were met with nothing. Glancing over the top of his papers, it was clear to Beachhead that Lady Jaye was reading the same passages. Her face was a blank slate, however, and showed no signs of disgust or repulsion at the thought of them as husband and wife. It was an odd assignment. Beachhead pondered why he was chosen over more obvious candidates, like Flint. Especially Flint. Surely that man could manage to squeak out some passable German turns of phrase. Maybe it was some holiday joke and Hawk would bounce back in, smile on his face, pointing his fingers while yelling gottcha! No, it wasn't that. Beachhead knew that just was not Hawk's style. Although Beachhead found fault with the general for being too lax about some aspects of the team, in times of crisis, he always stepped up. No, this was real, but Lady Jaye was not.

Beachhead, conditioned to Lady Jaye's antagonistic remarks, found himself somewhat discombobulated by her docile manner. He thrived on adversity and the matching of wits. With Lady Jaye, he got more. His interactions with her were unlike his relations with the other team members. There was something dangerous, perhaps forbidden, about her. She took things like any of her male colleagues, but her responses were deftly feminine. It could be a momentary look, a shrug of the shoulders, a part of the lips. Beachhead swallowed hard trying to erase that last one. It took some restraint to keep from thinking about kissing those lips. She wasn't his type. She never would be. Yet he found that he desired her all the more. She repulsed and attracted him like a magnetic coil. It only added fodder for his stance that women should not be allowed on the team. It wasn't entirely fair. She could hold her own. All of the Joe women could. He hated to be this conflicted. Hated and loved it. His interactions with Jaye kept him on his toes. In his line of work he had to maintain his focus and stay sharp. Around her, Beachhead always was. Given all that, he had to know. "What's wrong?" Beachhead wasn't exactly known for his subtlety.

"What?" Lady Jaye eyed him wearily. She didn't trust his motives to be entirely altruistic. There had to be a catch.

"You're too quiet. That usually means something is wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. We just have our work cut out for us." She wiggled her toes in her boots, a nervous tic. Looking away she longed for Hawk to get back and release her. Right now she was in no mood for dealing with Beachhead.

"Not even a rise or a protest? I don't get it."

Lady Jaye's features squeezed together in her attempt to make heads or tails of Beachhead's questioning. She opened her mouth to unleash a retort, but shook her head and stared at him instead. With his baclava on, you could never truly tell the meaning behind his words. His eyes remained icy sharp; they never gave a thought away. All that you had were his words. His words were the only thing and they were everything. "That's ridiculous. Why would you say that?"

"Usually you would have tried to kiss me or argue with me, maybe both, by now seeing as we're husband and wife. This silence is deafening."

"Because I'm not trying to kiss you? That makes a lot of sense."

Beachhead decided to take a different approach, "Listen, I know you would rather have someone else on this mission. I don't envy you for this assignment. But I promise I will have your back."

"Is that what you think?"

"Frankly, yes."

Lady Jaye's eyes lit up and she launched into a verbal take down of Beachhead. "Stop, just stop!" It was Beachhead's turn to be silent.

Lady Jaye pulled away from the table and began to pace around the room. She addressed Beachhead, but her comments were directed to a wider audience. "You've made yourself more than clear on innumerable occasions what you think of our relationship. I understand your concerns, believe me, I do. But I wish you would just back off. It doesn't affect you. I am more than capable of working with anyone on this team. I am not aloof. I do not need to work with just one person. We may have our differences, but dammit, I'd trust you with my life. You know that. What is it? Why do you hate me so much?"

Beachhead wasn't the only one surprised by Jaye's outburst. She herself could not succinctly point to the source of her outrage. Beachhead hadn't said anything particularly offensive. Just because he didn't say it, however, didn't mean that he wasn't thinking it. He always did. At least that is the situation to which Lady Jaye had become accustomed.

"Jaye Bird." She paused. "Sit down." She obeyed. Jaye Bird was the further nickname Beachhead assigned her during her first foray into Joe training. With every barking order, she would resist. Lady Jaye had a habit of talking with Mainframe and Ripcord. Beachhead quipped that it sounded like a lot of squawking to him and Jaye Bird was born. He didn't use the name much anymore, usually only when he wanted to make a point, although lately he attached more private implications to its use. "Now let's start over. What's wrong?"

Lady Jaye gritted her teeth and gave a look of consternation. "Why don't you like me?"

Beachhead sighed on the inside, "Is that what this is about?"

"No, but it would help."

"I like you just fine."

"Then why would you say that?"

"Say what?" The conversation wasn't progressing anything like Beachhead imagined. It was shaded and convoluted, like one of Lady Jaye's covert op missions. He feared that this is what was in store for him until the mission was over. He had steeled himself to hear some trite story of a lovers spat, would tell her to tough it up, and then be done with it. He should have known. It wouldn't be that typical with her.

"Say that I would rather have somebody else on the mission."

"Hold on now. This is far afield from my original question to you."

"Not really. I need to know."

"I said it for the response, not the content."

"You were fishing about Flint."

Her tone cut him to the core. It wasn't a statement as much as it was an accusation. Beachhead suddenly regretted one incident in his life, this conversation. He lived by a creed though, never lie. He wished he could forget it. The die was cast and he involved himself in something he should have avoided with a five mile pole. He had to be out with it. "Yes, I was."

"Because you think it's impacting my performance."

Again, that tone he found loathsome. It drove that wedge between them all the more deep. "I believe it has the potential. But don't you think that you asking the question is your own answer?"

Lady Jaye bit her bottom lip, stewing in a million responses that she wanted to give, but didn't dare. Her leg bounced up and down in a nervous twitter. Her eyes locked with Beachhead's. She didn't want to give in and concede defeat, but neither would he. Things appeared to be at an impasse.

Beachhead reached across the divide and placed his hand on her thigh. "Come on now. You're going to drive me crazy with this."

She stopped, but the stare remained.

Beachhead continued, amazed that his hand was still attached to his body. In addition to never lying, he also believed in never interfering. He had a feeling though that Lady Jaye was in desperate need of some interference. "I apologize for assuming what you think." He was surprised as he said the words for he truly felt their meaning hit home. It wasn't often that he apologized; he could probably count on one hand the number of times he had done so. When he did, he meant it. "I won't apologize for asking what's wrong. If we're going to do this, we have to be in it one hundred percent. I do like you and I trust you with my life, but I have a right to know if my team's in trouble. I didn't ask it right, so I'll ask again, what's wrong?"

Lady Jaye swallowed her pride. Beachhead was who he was. There were no ulterior motives with him. But there were motives with her. There were things she would not reveal to Beachhead. Not now anyway. "I'm tired and having some trouble back home. My family doesn't take too kindly to breaking holiday obligations. It will pass. This won't impact our mission. I promise you." She didn't flinch or blink; she stared straight ahead mentally daring him to call her bluff. She couldn't see his lips purse together, but she knew from innumerable observations of the subtle shifts in the fabric of his mask that that was what he was doing.

Beachhead knew she was lying. He could see right through it. He didn't think she even had any family. But he wouldn't pry. He knew she would be solid for the mission. The conversation gave him the assurance he needed. They were both back on track. He withdrew his hand. "Alright then. Again, I'm sorry."

Lady Jaye let it all wash away to that hidden place where things could lie in wait for later. She excelled thus far because of the parts she could play. If ever she needed to be an actress, it was now. She looked away for a moment and then back at Beachhead, blinking her eyes, and subtlety lowering her head, looking ever so demure. "We'll just consider it our first quarrel, my love." With a sly smile, she leaned across and kissed him right where his lips should be.

The look in her eyes and the closeness of her overwhelmed Beachhead and he pushed back unexpectedly, tumbling over the chair and hitting the floor below. As he looked up at Lady Jaye too stunned to speak, Hawk walked back into the room. Surveying a smug Lady Jaye with arms folded and legs crossed and a bewildered Beachhead sprawled on the floor, Hawk sighed, "Doesn't anyone respect my conference room?"


	11. Simpletons, All of Them

A/N: I'm still on the edge over this chapter. It was originally part of a bigger chapter but I decided to split it up to make for easier reading. That and the fact that I'm determined to finish this and have been sitting on that larger chapter. I figure if I at least publish this bit it will get me back in the groove once more. I might edit this a wee bit at a later date or may just let it stand alone. Part of me is jonesing to get to some real action but the set-up is necessary for later parts. Unfortunately family issues (sick mom and little guy) and work travel have made it hard to take some relaxing writing breaks. I finished the last chapter so I know where it's going. I hope you will enjoy the journey there. Thanks to all who have taken the time to leave a review. I didn't think it mattered but it actually kind of makes your day when you read the comments. I really appreciate it and will endeavor to make reading this worth your while.

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains,**** former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Temporary Personnel Quarters**

Cover Girl perched on her bed watching as Lady Jaye, sitting crossed-legged on the floor below, rummaged through what seemed like mountains of clothes in preparation for the mission with Beachhead. Lady Jaye shook her head as she inspected every item, casually tossing clothes aside into a reject pile, and fishing anew. It was impossible. She was always prepared; it was the nature of her role on the team. Once Flint had made a snide remark about women and over packing as he watched her struggle with two duffle bags for a weekend assignment. He was soon singing her praises when she smuggled him out in a carefully-crafted disguise after the mission got too hot. She couldn't help to smile at that thought. She swore to take to the grave the fact that he dressed up as a highly flamboyant French-speaking masseuse. This time around she found her head just wasn't into it. On any other day she would be packed and waiting by the plane. Now she found each shirt seemed as obvious as the last. They all screamed "notice me" and "I clearly am working undercover." How did former East Germans dress anyway? Lady Jaye leaned back contemplating defeat.

Cover Girl giggled, "Ok, let me get this straight. You and Beachhead, you guys," she paused momentarily to let out another giggle, "you guys are married? Oh that is just priceless."

"Oh hardy har har." Lady Jaye's sarcastic bite failed to dim Cover Girl's spirits.

"You know it's funny. That man totally has it in for you and now you're his ball and chain. It's perfect." Cover Girl choked back another laugh.

"It is not priceless. It is not perfect. It's a friggin disaster is what it is. Do you know what he asked me?" Lady Jaye stopped throwing clothes about to stand and stretch. "He asked me if something was wrong, and then specifically if I'd rather have Flint on the assignment instead of him. He has no right."

"Aww, that's cute. He cares."

"Courtney, that man does not care. That man wants my existence eradicated from the face of this earth." Lady Jaye plopped back down on the floor.

Courtney gave an affected sigh. "Now don't you think you're being a bit, oh I don't know, melodramatic?"

Lady Jaye's lower lip stuck out like a petulant child. She privately acknowledged the truth to Cover Girl's words but she would never agree out loud. She knew Beachhead's slights against her were more than just in her perception. The whole team often commented on his bark and her bite. Lady Jaye resumed her task. The conversation was not over though. "Ever since day one he has had it in for me. I will never be good enough for his standards and I'm fine with that. But now we have to work together and it's going to come to a head. I don't see a way around it. But we can't mess this one up. We need to rely on each other. How can I trust him though if he doesn't trust me? If he thinks that my head is elsewhere? If he thinks all I'm in this for is a . . ." Lady Jaye's words dropped off.

"Boyfriend? Maybe husband material?"

Lady Jaye suddenly saw things through Beachhead's eyes. He dedicated his body and soul to the team and no doubt expected the same from his peers. If he saw something less than that in her why wouldn't he think that she was just there to meet the best of the best and be done with it? _Because I've given up everything to be here_, her inner voice raged.

Cover Girl sensed Lady Jaye's turmoil and tried to change the subject. "Honey, no one will ever be good enough for our Platoon boy. Get over it."

"It just bugs me." Frustrated, Lady Jaye tossed another blouse aside.

"Well, it bugs me to watch you disgrace the Chanel name by crumpling it up like that." Cover Girl rose from her bed to join Lady Jaye on the floor. She reached forward and pulled the silky cream-colored blouse from the pile of castaways. "Look at this. You're committing crimes against humanity in your abuse."

Despite her best efforts, Lady Jaye felt her mood lighten. Even though she left out a good portion of the conversation from Cover Girl, the woman was probably right. She wasn't going to let Beachhead spoil her mood. Not tonight. "You like it?"

Cover Girl held the blouse up to her cheek, stroking it like a prized cat. "Oh like doesn't even begin to describe my feelings."

"Well, it's yours. Merry Christmas."

"I couldn't."

"You know you could as you've done many times before. Besides, it will look much better on you than me, as everything does. You can wear it tonight and be the belle of the ball."

"Thank you. I'm in love with a shirt." Cover Girl practically purred with delight as she clutched the blouse to her heart. She set the blouse down next to her, eagerly scanning the items spread out before her in anticipation of adding to her gift. She absentmindedly fingered a cashmere cardigan. "Mmm, Prada, you have the best stuff." Cover Girl turned to Jaye, "I still can't believe Hawk is allowing civilian wear. Who even thought to bring anything to this godforsaken place?"

Lady Jaye laughed, "Obviously me." Lady Jaye followed the line of Cover Girl's arm down to the cardigan and took amusement as Cover Girl attempted to covertly take possession of the sweater. "Going somewhere with that?"

"Well, I could be going somewhere. I'll make you a proposition."

"As long as it doesn't involve Beachhead."

"I think you like him."

Lady Jaye reached down and hurled a skirt at Cover Girl.

"Jaye and Beachy sitting in a tree. . ." Cover Girl put up her arms to fend off a further attack of clothes. "Ok, ok, I surrender. Don't crinkle the goods. Here's the deal. I will help you outfit yourself as the richest Euro trash alive if you let me borrow the Prada?"

Lady Jaye shook her head in mock disgust. "You just like me for my clothes."

"At least I like you."

"Fine. I put myself in your fashionable hands."

Cover Girl clapped her hands together. "Oh, this is going to be fun." She paused, thinking for a moment, "Hey, where's Scarlett? I think she'd want in on this act. She'll need something for tonight and I see some Jacobs right up her alley."

"I think she's calling it an early night. I heard from Hawk that the team is heading out in the wee hours of the morning."

"She'll miss the dinner. Where's the fun in that?"

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to any of them. This is all secondhand info from the general."

"Did Flint say?" There was a certain twinkle in Cover Girl's eye, but the name was enough to once again dampen Lady Jaye's mood. She hadn't seen the warrant officer since the briefing. She hadn't gone out and looked for him either. Still, part of her hoped that he would be waiting for her, well, waiting for her despite her earlier rebuff. She sighed; maybe she was sending mixed signals to him that he couldn't interpret. Heck, she couldn't explain her actions these days. But what was going on in his head? What could it be? Flint had once told her that men were simple creatures and could never rise to the complex deviousness ascribed to them by the female species.

Case in point, a conversation they once had about plans for a rare shared weekend leave. It was the beginning of their courtship and they were still figuring their way around each other. He hadn't yet learned that her "leave me alone" really meant "I need help" and she had yet to figure out that his "I need some time" meant "I need some time but still will be thinking of you." Always weary about her family background around the team, she floated the idea of visiting her summer house on the Vineyard. He replied that it sounded like a good idea. There was something in his tone, however, that gave her pause. She studied his features for some tell-tale sign of reluctance. She detected a fleeting look on his face. It wasn't familiar; she knew it was something. He didn't want to go and was just humoring her. She was certain he was not in favor of the idea and called him out.

"_Listen, if you don't want to go, it's ok. We can think of something else. Really. We don't have to." _The words came out sharp and guarded.

"_Whoa, where's this coming from. I told you, it's a good idea."_

"_But you really don't think that. Just be honest with me."_

Flint was flabbergasted, _"Wait a second, let's slow this down. I think I might be the authority on what I think. Why do you think I don't want to go? I told you I did."_

"_That's what you're saying__."_

Flint gave her a blank stare. He was tempted to blame it on hormones but valued his life and personal parts more than the satisfaction that would come from a well-delivered line.

"_Your voice__ doesn't agree, I can tell. And you had a look."_

"_My voice? A look?"_

"_Yes, a look."_ Flint's face reflected the same look for a second. _"There, you just had it again. You don't want to go."_

"_Alison, I think your__ Dash detector is too sensitive. You need to recalibrate it fast. If I say it's a good idea, it's a good idea. You give me too much credit. I'm just a simpleton. All of us males are. I can't keep up with the say this, mean that, look this way, look that. It's too complex for me. If I say something to you, I mean it. Are we ok on this?"_

"_So, when you say that you're, well, you know?" _She raised her eyes, in them a suggestion of something more than just mild flirtation.

Flint laughed and pulled her into his arms. _"Especially that."_ Lady Jaye moaned and flung the nearest pillow in his direction and settled into his embrace, happy.

In the present though, she felt that happiness in her chest dissipate. There was the problem. It had never occurred to her before this moment. He was avoiding her because he didn't want to lie to her. He couldn't mean what he had to say. What was there for him to lie about? That he still cared? He seemed to still care. Maybe caring wasn't enough anymore. Maybe there was something else? Or someone else? He could still care and not love. She struggled to clear the thoughts out of her head. It was ridiculous, jumping to these conclusions. She always assumed the worse. It kept her alive but at what cost? At a cost to her rational and sane self was all. What was it about Occam's Razor, she tried to recall? The simplest explanation is the best. The simplest explanation was that he had a mission he couldn't talk about. It happened before. Either one of them, given their occupation, could be sent away on a covert operation at a moment's notice. He usually mentioned to her that he couldn't mention anything. Why wouldn't he not mention something now? It was too much. Cover Girl was right; she was too melodramatic. There simply wasn't a time for him to tell her. That's why he went away. Soon enough they would be alone and he would tell her. She felt better. Life could be simple, it had to be.

"Um, earth to Lady Jaye. What gives? Was it something I said?" Cover Girl poked her arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I lost track of my thoughts."

"Thoughts of Flint?" Cover Girl winked and prodded her friend.

Lady Jaye swatted the woman's hand away. "Come on, nothing like that. I just don't know anything about tonight."

"Well I know one thing."

Lady Jaye raised her eyebrows.

"And that is we are going to knock socks off for a change. Look out motor pool, I'm a Hart-Burnett tonight." Cover Girl surveyed the surrounding mess. "And I know exactly what we're wearing. Just follow my lead."

Lady Jaye swallowed hard. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like this path in the least bit.


	12. Just When Things

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Officers' Dining Hall**

As the Joes trickled into the dining hall, they were overwhelmed by the sight of the makeshift banquet. The whisperings around the base did it little justice. Per Giorgi's instructions, the set-up crew had arranged the tables in one long line, joined end-to-end. Giorgi explained to the crew that a supra was always held at one long table, or a makeshift table of many joined end-to-end, running from one room to another, if need be. Due to the lack of adjoining rooms, the set-up crew improvised and the tables snaked along the wall, never touching. It created the sense of an Escher painting—where the tables began and ended no one could say. The tables' set-up, however, was not the subject of the marvel. As a matter of fact, most of the table tops were invisible to the Joes, laden as they were with huge earthen jugs full of wine and assorted dishes created by Roadblock and the kitchen staff. To the casual observer the servers appeared to pile the dishes on top of each other in an effort to reach the ceiling. To the more discriminating Joes, it was a showcase of gastronomy at its finest. The overabundance of food and wine was enough to make any Joe pause and preemptively adjust a waistband.

Alpine ambled into the room still weary of what the Georgians considered fine cuisine. Despite Giorgi's assurances he remained apprehensive for the evening's feast. His fears were laid to rest at the site of the lavish spread. All around the tables the kitchen crew placed steaming silver trays filled with khachapuri, a cheese-filled bread Giorgi declared to be the national snack of Georgia. After one taste of Roadblock's first batch, Giorgi declared the cook a citizen for life. In addition to the bread, there was shashlik, a type of Georgian kabob, salads, chicken, ham, rice dishes, and assorted greens. Alpine whistled to himself. Although it would be a failing endeavor to eat all that food, he was more than willing to make an attempt. He had to hand it to the staff; they certainly had gone all out.

Bazooka, already seated, caught a glimpse of the climber and waved the man over. Alpine eagerly took the proffered seat. The Georgian attendants began to pass the dishes and Alpine soon lost sight of his plate. Bazooka looked around quickly before hunching over into a small ball.

Alpine nudged him, "Hey man, what are you doing?"

Bazooka smiled as he straightened out, pointing toward his midsection. He had taken the opportunity to proactively undue his belt. "Don't need this getting in my way. Pass some more of that kapooey over."

"Khachapuri." Giorgi materialized out of thin air, offering a tray of the steaming hot bread to the men. Giorgi's eyes were ablaze with the excitement of the evening and something more. Alpine couldn't quite put a finger on it but to him Giorgi's wide-eyed expression bordered on the psychotic. It reminded Alpine of the movie Psycho and Norman Bates, a seemingly normal man on the outside but darn crazy on the inside. Alpine mentally shook his head. He knew he was being ridiculous. Giorgi had as much of a chance as being malevolent as Alpine's food had a chance of growing cold on his plate. Bazooka, oblivious to Alpine's discomfort, dived into the offered platter, using tongs to scoop up as much of the sticky, oozing bread as possible.

Giorgi cautioned the man, "Now Mr. Bazooka, don't fill up too much for there is much more. There are a few courses yet to come."

"No worries of that," Bazooka shoveled more of the bread into his mouth. Looking around, Bazooka grabbed the nearest filled wine goblet and prepared to guzzle down its contents. The bread, while good, nevertheless left one with a thirst.

"No!" Giorgi swiped the goblet away from the startled man's mouth. "You mustn't."

Bazooka felt like cowering under the table. He knew he'd gone and done it again, offending some local tradition or something. It was like the time Alpine, Lady Jaye, and he had that mission in Japan. How was he supposed to know that the pastries in the middle of the table were offerings for the minister's ancestors? It was a mistake anyone could have made. Alpine stared at Giorgi. Was this what he sensed, some controlling personality underlying the man's usual jovial nature?

Giorgi sensed the men's discomfort and attempted to repair the situation. "I apologize. One may not drink unless the tamada has offered the toast. It is a tradition of my people and it is bad luck to drink out of turn. Please allow me to get you some water. The salt of the cheese can cause a terrible thirst." Giorgi bowed slightly, disappearing into a crowd of servers.

Bazooka looked at Alpine and shrugged, "Man, no matter where you are, people are always going to put out stuff you can't eat. I give up." He consoled himself with another heaping of the cheese bread. Speaking through a mouth full of cheese, Bazooka offered some up to Alpine, "You got to try this stuff. Man it's good." Alpine seemed transfixed elsewhere. "Hey, Buds, earth to Alpine." Bazooka waved his hand in front of Alpine's face. Alpine pushed the hand away. "Hey, what ya go and do that . . ." Bazooka's indignation trailed off as he caught sight of Alpine's view. Walking into the room was a vision sent from heaven, Cover Girl and Lady Jaye decked out in their finest. Bazooka let his mouth open, runny cheese dribbling down his chin.

Cover Girl strolled in as if she was on a runway, owning the room. Confidence hovered about her and she knew she captivated them all. Wearing the blouse and cardigan from Lady Jaye and adding her own black velvet mini-skirt, her legs went on for miles as the black velvet hit black stockings, which turned into black suede high-heeled boots. At once reserved and extravagant, she looked every bit the model she once was. Walking slightly aside and behind her, Lady Jaye was striking in her own way. Cover Girl, convincing Lady Jaye that true sexiness was not in what one showed but in what one chose not to, outfitted Jaye in a sleek black cashmere turtleneck, fitted black cigarette trousers, and delicate golden flats. It was an outfit Lady Jaye owned but would never think to wear. Her family's status earned her spots on various designers' mailing lists and during fashion week her New York apartment became buried under boxes upon boxes of couture and runway wear. Unbeknownst to the designers, however, Lady Jaye was more apt to wear combat boots than the stiletto heels carefully selected by the house of Chanel. The clothes fawned over by the fashionistas often remained wrapped in tissue paper, stowed away in a closet until forgotten. Occasionally, the woman to whom the packages were addressed, Alison Hart-Burnett, would shed her fatigues for softer things, like silk and cashmere. That occasion was tonight.

As she closely followed Cover Girl, Lady Jaye couldn't help but to notice the green monster clouding her thoughts. Cover Girl looked fantastic. Of this there was no doubt. Despite Cover Girl's assistance, Lady Jaye knew she would never possess the poise and grace of the other woman or, she had to face it, the height. It was like royalty. Either you were born into it or you weren't. You could marry but it wasn't the same. It didn't mean that she couldn't wish to command that primal power for an hour, or an evening, or, to be honest, a lifetime. Cover Girl was right though in that she probably tried too hard and overcompensated in her choice of civilian attire. Not that the model would ever come out and say it. She was too tactful to call anyone out like that. No, Cover Girl knew how to suggest to the listener that one thing was preferable to the other and next thing Lady Jaye knew she was strolling out in front of all her teammates wearing more clothes than she ever would for a party yet feeling more exposed then she ever had.

Her teammates had a different opinion on the matter and, in addition to Alpine and Bazooka's blank stares, Cover Girl and Lady Jaye's arrival was met with grins, congratulatory words, and a few catcalls, which were directly traceable to the motor pool inhabitants. Cover Girl grinned through it all and took pride in her work. She also relished sauntering past the motor pool's motley crew to join Lady Jaye in sitting with Mainframe and Ripcord to partake in a more civilized discourse.

As they took their seats Lady Jaye's wandering eyes did not escape Cover Girl's notice. "Looking for someone?" Courtney gently nudged the other woman.

Lady Jaye raised her shoulders, "I'm a creature of habit what can I say."

"Well I'll save you the effort. Your man of action isn't here yet and from the looks of it, he gets prime seating while us plebes have to enjoy the festivities from the bleachers." Cover Girl extended a graceful arm toward a section in the middle of the snaking tables where an ornate cushioned chair was joined by other plush seating. A nervous server was swatting away Joes anxious for a front and center experience. "I'll bet this week's salary that the big boys are going to perch there."

Lady Jaye nodded, pulled out a rickety metal folding chair, and tried to hide the disappointment that she would yet again be denied the opportunity to speak with Flint. Maybe after the dinner concluded she could corner him. She had the nagging feeling she had some apologizing to do.

"You're looking nice this evening."

Lady Jaye barely stammered out a "thanks" to Mainframe. She couldn't recall the last time any of her friends offered a positive comment on her appearance. Usually any quips directed her way pointed out the obvious, like sticks and mud in her hair or a particularly nasty bruise on her cheek. As Ripcord added his praise, Lady Jaye felt her cheeks grow warm. How sad was her state of affairs that Mainframe and Ripcord could make her blush? As for Cover Girl, Mainframe and Ripcord could barely stammer out any observations on her outfit. Ripcord gave a passable "I like your boots," but Mainframe was sad was her state of affiars that How Courtney, well aware of the effect her presence was having on her dining companions, slowly lowered her frame into the seat, adjusting her skirt so that more leg showed.

"Courtney, you're evil." Lady Jaye whispered.

"Oh, I'm only having a bit of fun. It's nice to socialize without being covered in last week's oil changes."

"Well, have your fun but make sure you don't give Blaine a heart attack."

Cover Girl smiled and hitched her skirt a little higher. Lady Jaye rolled her eyes as Mainframe's forehead broke out into a cold sweat. Even though Mainframe had the advantage of years on them, he still fell somewhat into the computer nerd mold. An attractive girl sitting in such close proximity was bound to make him sweat as much as a malfunctioning keyboard in a firefight when the safe egress of a team was all on him. Unlike the malfunctioning keyboard, which Mainframe stood a chance of mastering, the pretty girl probably would always leave him in the dust. It was a personality quirk Lady Jaye could never understand. Although she and Flint were often given credit as the team's heavy IQ's, Mainframe was an MIT graduate, certainly nothing to sneeze at. He had parlayed his education into a lucrative career prior to joining the Joes and he and Lady Jaye often traded investment advice. Lady Jaye was always thankful for the Microsoft tip Mainframe shared after some friends of his began to sing the praises of the company's operating system. Despite his otherwise rational mind, public speaking and pretty women got the techie every time. Lady Jaye's musings on how long Mainframe would last were cut short by the sharp sound of a ringing bell.

A hush formed over the assembled crew as a procession of Georgians dressed in traditional garb snaked around the tables. Some shook handheld bells while others clapped their hands in unison, all the while humming a strange and slightly ethereal tune. The overhead florescent lights dimmed as various staff members raced to light candles placed on all the tables. Suddenly the soldiers were transported from their present surroundings of an old Russian cafeteria, long in tooth and short in amenities, to a long ago time and place when friends and family would gather in rustic halls to feast to the living and give praise to the dead. A slight break in the procession announced the arrival of the leaders.

At the front of the group was Giorgi. Eyes afire with the excitement and spectacle, his exuberance was almost tangible. Lady Jaye could feel herself feeding off his energy, heart pounding in her chest as she began to clap with the others in time to the ancient rhythms and beats. Just behind Giorgi was Hawk, resplendent in his dress blues and black bow tie. Even though the general had given his blessing to civilian dress, he was ever aware of his station and always dressed the part. Behind Hawk walked the man Lady Jaye wanted to see, Flint. Following his commander's cues, Flint too proudly wore his dress uniform. She had to admit, the man looked good; Flint knew the lady couldn't resist a man in uniform. She raised a hand to her brow, trying to shade her eyes from the candles' glare and catch a closer look, perhaps even catch his eye to let him know all would be fine. Ignoring Cover Girl's kissy-face mimics, Lady Jaye almost wished it wouldn't be against protocol to jump up and down and grab his attention. She imagined it would be like a movie in which Flint was about to get married as she rushed into the church, breathless, to stop the nuptials. That brought a sweet thought. Flint hated those movies and always sympathized with the left behind bride-to-have-been, while Jaye thought it was romantic that true lovers would get to be together at last, no matter the obstacle. Flint, claiming it a product of his "wholesome" Midwestern roots, firmly argued that once you were at the altar that was it, deed done. If you really wanted to be with someone, then go on and be with that someone—don't mess up another pretty girl's life. He was equally in solidarity if the left behind party was male.

The lighting wasn't conducive to anything remotely nearing a romantic comedy scene and Lady Jaye lowered her hand, the rest of the procession going by in a blur. Flint, for his part, was doing the best he could to spot Jaye in the crowd. The candles, darkness, and sputtering smoke blurred the Joes into an indiscernible lot. Try as he could, he couldn't make heads or tails of the person a foot to his left let alone across the room. He was feeling grouchy and slightly miffed at the escalation the evening's dinner had taken on. The supra he attended as a student was low-key, welcoming, inviting. It wasn't this pageantry on display concocted by Giorgi. This wasn't how he imagined this night. He wanted intimacy, the laughter of friends, the intangible that needed nothing but closeness and camaraderie. He wanted the true spectacle to be later when no song, no dance, no words need be said. But Hawk said to suck it up, and suck it up he would.

The men approached the sectioned-off chairs and took their seats, Hawk in the middle, Giorgi to his left, Flint to his right, and Duke next to Flint. They waited for the stragglers to find spots and then Giorgi rose to speak. "Thank you my friends for sharing this time with me. It is not often in our life that we have the opportunity to meet so many to call a friend. Although our heritages may be different, and although we may honor separate traditions, I think it is appropriate that we can all break bread together on this night. When I was a young man, people in your country took me in and gave me a place to call home. I now cannot express to you the happiness I have in taking you in and giving you a place to call home. Tonight we will share in a dinner feast that Georgians have hosted for centuries. As host, I have the distinct honor and privilege of choosing my tamada. General Hawk here has accepted my invitation and I now turn my table over to him. Thank you so much for coming." Giorgi gave a bow to his audience and then turned to Hawk with a smile. Clasping his hands together he exclaimed, "They are now yours for the taking. Gagimarjos!"

Hawk bowed toward Giorgi as he rose to speak. The general raised his glass with his left hand, took a nervous glance at Flint, who shook his head and motioned to his right hand. Hawk switched hands, Flint gave a reassuring nod, and Hawk began to speak. "I am new to the customs of this country but not to the people whom we call friends. No matter where in the world we may find ourselves, the one hope I always have for us is that we will find a friend. Tonight is no different. We were called here for a reason, of that there is no doubt, but reasons mean nothing if we can't join together on a night such as this. Tonight I wish you the every happiness of the season and the joy it can bring. I thank our new Georgian friends and the hospitality that they extend. Someday may we meet in peace instead of war. Someday may our children play together at our feet as we share the stories of old. Someday may we feast together at a table where there is neither hunger nor want. These things I wish for you tonight. Cheers."

Hawk looked down at Giorgi, who was busy dabbing at his eyes with a napkin. "Wonderful General, simply wonderful."

As the gathered Joes and Georgians cheered and made motions to drink their wine, Hawk raised his left hand, urging them to hold off a little longer. "Please, please. We are not allowed to drink yet. You see, Giorgi has let me in on a little secret. In addition to the tamada, it is also customary to have an alaverdi. An alaverdi is the person responsible for making sense out of my gibberish." His line elicited some laughs from the audience. Hawk held up his arm, silencing the crowd. "In all seriousness, an all seriousness please, I believe that this is a beautiful tradition that we shall fully honor. I could think of no one better to take up this cause than Flint." Hawk turned to Flint and encouraged him to rise.

Lady Jaye, across the room, fended off Cover Girl's playful elbowing at the sound of his name. Cover Girl leaned in, "Ooooo, now we all get a taste of your pillow talk."

"Courtney!"

"Come on, you know it's true. He makes you swoon on Yeats."

Lady Jaye let out an exasperated rush of breath and sunk back into her chair.

Flint stood up, bowing slightly to the General, muttering under his breath, "Thanks a lot sir."

Hawk patted the man on the back. "Come on now. There's plenty of time for your, making it more public did you say?"

Flint looked at the man wide-eyed. "What. . . ?"

"Please son. I once stood in your shoes. Don't worry, in due time soldier, one battle at a time." He winked and gestured toward the room. "Consider it a warm up." Hawk chuckled at his joke and took his seat, leaving Flint to stand there alone.

Flint canvassed the crowd but still could find no signs of Lady Jaye in the crowd. She was there though, he could feel it. If he couldn't be there next to her, the words he would offer up were the next best thing. Swallowing hard, he took the plunge, "When I think of tonight, I think we should call each other by some better name, for friendship sounds too cold. A friend implies that we are not joined together in this night. A friend implies that we were once not acquainted and may yet not be. A friend implies a transient state. No, tonight I think of you all as my brother. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. We did not choose where we would be on this night. Rather, providence sought us out, picked us from a crowd, and placed us in the hands of fate. Be it wrong, or be it right, we will stand together, and make our pact on this night. We will make a pact as only brothers may. As we gather here, uncertain of the storm to come, know one thing and know it well, together we are more when we cease to be alone. We will not fold our hands and say it cannot be done—that we have sworn and will not turn aside. I lift my glass to you and provide my solemn vow. As my brother we will live henceforth. I thank the fates that brought us here and I thank you. Lift your glass and join me tonight."

When he finished, the room remained silent, taking in his words. Though they were simple and concise, the meaning resonated. Flint held up his glass and gave a nod, indicating it was time to drink. Everyone cheered again and Bazooka was finally relieved that he could now sip his wine. Flint looked out at the crowd, and with a wink announced, "Now gentlemen, make sure to drink it all!"

Bazooka sputtered out the small taste he had taken and turned to Alpine, "What? This is going to be a long night." Alpine shook his head in agreement as he downed his cup.

The supra continued in this fashion—a toast by Hawk, elaborated on by Flint, and then a glass of wine. The toasts ranged from comments about God, to family, to the men present, to love, and the friends that had been lost but not forgotten on this night. No matter how much was drunk, the wine glasses always remained full. Under no circumstances, as Giorgi reminded Hawk, was a toast to be made with a half-empty glass. Hawk began to get into a rhythm and, although he tried his best to follow the list of toasts and drinks crumpled up in his pocket, he felt the wine was getting to his head. It was obvious that Giorgi had succumbed to the alcohol's effects. After one particularly joyous offering, he yelled out, pressuring the men to drink more, "If you do not want the love that we have here, then you will not drink your entire glass!" His challenge was quickly met by the more competitive of the group.

It was then time for a most important toast. Hawk called upon the men present to stand on their chairs and toast the ladies present. The men, in various states of sobriety, did their best to climb up on their chairs and maintain some semblance of balance. From somewhere in the room a voice cried out, "Hey, Alpine, this is a toast for the ladies. I think you need to take your seat."

Alpine held up his hands, the earth swirling below him. He contemplated for a moment climbing up on his chair and thought better. He sat back down, "Gladly gentlemen, most gladly."

Bazooka, wine glass clutched in unsteady hands, found himself jealous of his friend's out. He decided to follow suit. This led to further ribbing, "Alpine, looks like your girlfriend is joining you." Bazooka smiled and draped an arm around a now-annoyed Alpine. More laughs followed.

Hawk took in the scene and, although it would have made him cringe in normal circumstances, he couldn't help but to smile. Despite every obstacle that was placed in their path, here was his team, together as they should be during the holidays. He missed home but felt as if he was home in a way. As long as the Joes could be like this, if even for a moment, then why wouldn't he consider this desolate outpost the closest thing to home? He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to face a contented Flint. "Warming up to the festivities are you?"

"Yes General, I think I am."

"Well, I think we should make this the last one." He gestured his head toward the motor pool table where Clutch was slumped in his chair, eyes closed, visibly snoring. "It might be nice to allow the men to have some free time to enjoy themselves outside of this, formality."

"Yes Sir, I believe that's the best course."

"And what about you?"

"Me, Sir?"

"Yes, you son. Ready?"

"Almost." Flint smiled at the thought, "Just a few more tweaks."

"I don't have to say good luck." Hawk faced Flint, "This will change your life. I couldn't think of anything I want more for you though." He extended a hand toward Flint, who gladly took it. Hawk brought the younger man in for a brief hug. "Go get her."

"I'll try my best Sir."

"Let's finish this up then shall we?" Hawk carefully stepped up onto his chair and faced the crowd. "Gentlemen, the toast we make now is the most important toast we make. Tonight, we drink to our ladies." Hawk held up his glass. "I must defer to those with more expertise." He cast a long glance at Flint as several hoots and whistles emanated from the audience. "But before I do, let me simply say that without our women, there would be no us. God made women both beautiful and foolish—beautiful, that man might love her; foolish, that she might love him."

"Hear, hear," a few cried out. The sounds of clinking glasses resonated around the room. Sometime after the toast to grandparents, some of those present fell back to their customary ways, finding that waiting for words before they could imbibe interfered too much with the whole process of merry making.

Flint lifted his glass; it trembled ever so slightly as his thoughts drifted him away to a different place. The finish line was in sight; he only had to remain in the here and now for a few moments longer. It was a struggle keeping his head in the game. Hawk was right though, this could be a good warm-up. If he could say the right thing in the right way, then maybe she would know. That was the problem he realized. Say too little and she would no doubt interpret it as a sign he was backing away, adding fuel to her hostile fire. Say too much and she would see right through him, the element of surprise lost. For once in his life, he believed he finally knew what it was like to stand in the boots of the fairer sex. He couldn't say what he meant and mean what he said. If anything, at least after this, if he ever decided to hang it up and become a poor, recluse author, he'd be able to flesh out a decent female protagonist. The thought was small comfort for if he was that poor author then it only meant he struck out. He felt a nudge and looked across at Hawk.

"No time like the present."

"Um, right Sir." Flint faced his colleagues and began, "There is a saying that a woman can make an average man great, and a great man average."

"You'd know all about that Flint!"

"Yes, thank you Snowjob for that excellent commentary." Flint waited for the laughter to die down. "But we Joes know that our women do more than that. Day in and day out they show us time and time again that we truly are average without them. I'm reminded of the story of Aijaruc."

"Aaarooooo"

The dog sounds petered off, "Yes, gentlemen, I think we have just proven tonight that our women indeed have their work cut out for them." He paused a moment, and tried yet again, "Marco Polo met Aijaruc during his travels. The daughter of a Tartar king, she was spellbindingly beautiful but strong and brave as well. She refused to marry any suitor whom she could vanquish. In all trials she showed greater strength and fortitude than any man. She won 10,000 horses off hopeless young lads this way. As I look around, I have no doubt that were we helpless men to find horses in this place, they would not be ours for long." The men laughed. Flint again paused. It wasn't to let the men follow his words but rather was to divert them. Aijaruc's suitors, as reported by Polo, were never able to get the best of her. He shuddered to think that any such comparison should be made to the success of his own endeavors. The crowd, softened by much drink, was malleable and easily directed elsewhere. Flint changed course, "No, we know, we always know, that our Joe women represent the best of what we should strive to be. As Otway said, 'O woman, lovely woman, nature made thee, to temper man. We had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you. There's in you all that we believe of heaven.'" With these words, Flint raised his glass. The men in the room followed suit and let out drunken wallops in agreement.

Flint downed his glass and announced, "Thank you all again for your indulgence this evening. May the spirit of the holidays be with you."

Hawk stood to join him, "Another round for our own alaverdi!" The room eagerly met Hawk's call to praise, bringing hands together in loud applause. Hawk nudged Flint, practically pushing him out of the room. Flint escaped the onslaught of well-wishers. He had important matters to attend.

As the festivities wound down, Cover Girl turned to Lady Jaye. "Well, if that's but a taste of what he whispers to you at night, maybe I can see the attraction."

Lady Jaye rolled her eyes. Cover Girl was determined, "Come on, we have to get you to your man. Those words should not be wasted." She grabbed the other woman's elbow while using her own to cut through the crowd. It was a mission doomed to fail as all seated chose Hawk's final words as their cue to get up and stretch. In the windowless room, no one could say for certain how long the supra had progressed. Since the dawn of mankind, he has charted time by the course of the sun and other celestial bodies across the sky. Remove those heavenly objects and man must resort to other measures. Looking around the room, it was not hard to notice that the dishes on the table were stacked 12 plates high in certain spots. If one calculated a dish to minute ratio, it is likely that one plate would equal approximately 15 minutes. Therefore, using the clock plates, it was a safe assumption that the dinner easily ran over three hours, three hours during which everyone sat, drank, and ate with no awareness that three hours was indeed passing. Once the first Joe remarked on this passage of time, one massive rising of bodies couldn't be avoided. Tough as she was, Cover Girl was no match. She watched as Hawk blocked and Flint ducked away, fading from view.

She struggled against the ebb of the crowd anyway, pulling Lady Jaye with her. It had become personal. She, like every other individual on the team, was witness to the starts and sputters in Flint and Lady Jaye's courtship. Although it was supposed to be a secret, it was the most well-known secret on base. Even though the two strove mightily to keep things under wrap, it was nearly impossible when you lived and breathed the same air with the same people for so long. But now, now she felt as if she had the upper hand on the affair. Lady Jaye was open and truthful about her feelings, for once. Surely Flint could only be thinking of Lady Jaye with his words of beauty and need. If ever there was a night for a public declaration of endearment, this was it.

"Move! Come on, get out of the way." Cover Girl shoved her way through drunken conversations. The fate of a relationship was on her hands. Besides, maybe there would be a little less angst with which to contend if Flint and Lady Jaye could just get it out of the way. Cover Girl felt like she was dragging a buffalo behind her as her ward became less than cooperative.

"Oww," Lady Jaye yanked her arm away from Cover Girl's vise-like grip, "Courtney, your nails." She raised her arm, four red welts snaked their way from her wrist to her elbow.

"Oops, sorry about that. But come on, we can still catch him."

"I don't see him Courtney."

Cover Girl detected a hint of resignation to Lady Jaye's tone. She had to rally the troops, "It's probably because he's trying to make his way to us, well, to you. He's got a better chance of parting the seas than we do. Let's head back and save him a seat."

"I, I don't know,"

"Well I do. Get moving lady." Cover Girl pointed behind Lady Jaye and fluttered her hands, shooing Lady Jaye in the opposition direction. The two began the slow shuffle back.

Their progress was slowed down by the Georgian crews removal of some of the tables to clear some space for a make-shift dance floor. Over the loudspeaker Giorgi, no doubt, had commandeered some Georgian folk music. A couple robed in traditional garb began dancing, pulling others onto the floor to teach the steps. Plates were removed, and more time passed. In a far corner of the room, a select group of Joe men were discovering that there was more than one way to fleece a sheep. Ace, the team's resident bookie, had convened what he called "a nice gentlemen's leisurely pursuit" at an abandoned table.

"Okay gentleman, the name of the game is Texas hold-em. I tell you, this game's going to be huge someday." Ace began to deal out the cards, slipping a cigarette behind his ear.

"Hey Ace, I thought you gave them things up?" Wild Bill began collecting the cards dealt to him.

It's all for the effect, just the effect." Ace tapped the table before a dozing Bazooka, "Hey, wake-up, next game!"

"What? Huh? Oh, right." Bazooka quickly straightened up in his chair, adjusting his baseball hat, hoping that he had enough cash to last one more round. Ace was on fire tonight and had succeeded in cleaning out most of his reserves.

The game continued, each player regretting his decision to be involved in any pursuit Ace started. There was no way around it, Ace was a card shark and the one person who could top him retired early. Each also secretly hoped that maybe, for just this once, lady luck might get fickle and chose to grace someone other than the hot shot pilot.

That thought was short lived as Bazooka threw down his cards, "Nothing. I fold." He pushed his remaining cash towards the center of the table and stepped away, scanning the room to see who else he could bother. Across the way, near the entrance, he noticed Alpine lingering by the main doorway. He had the look of being up to something. Bazooka had witnessed this look many times before and instantly knew he had to be involved.

As Bazooka made his way over, Cover Girl and Lady Jaye had abandoned their quest to reclaim their original seats. Nowhere to be found, Lady Jaye left the room to see if she could find Flint and Cover Girl, witnessing the same look on Alpine as Bazooka, decided that there might be some more fun to be had. Closer to Alpine, she reached the man first and he whispered quietly in her ear while showing something to her. His stance concealed the object from Bazooka, but the way Cover Girl laughed out loud, Bazooka knew it had to be something good. He eagerly approached them, "Hey, what you two up to?"

Alpine tried to shush him away with an elbow. Bazooka, with nothing else to do, would not be dissuaded. "Come on guys, what's going on?"

"Promise to keep it a secret?" Cover Girl's eyes sparkled with holiday cheer and a little something more. As a special treat, in addition to the epicurean feast the team had just consumed, Roadblock brought out his special holiday punch as an encore. Punch was not a misnomer as the beverage had a way of packing quite a wallop. The drink worked its magic subtly. It was warm and inviting, flowing down one's throat ever so smooth. One sip and the deed was done. No one ever refused seconds and for those lacking Roadblock's size, seconds were usually enough. Cover Girl took another sip from her cup and giggled some more. "I swear, I don't know what Roadblock puts in this but I know I love it tonight and will regret it tomorrow." She nudged at Alpine, "Oh come on, let him in on it."

"Yeah," Bazooka chimed in, "let me in on it."

Alpine grinned as he held out his hand. Cupped in his palm was a small bright green plant with waxy leaves and minute crimson berries. A red ribbon was tied to the top with a silver hook. Bazooka looked at the two conspirators, quite certain that the punch had taken over. "What, I don't get it?"

Cover Girl laughed again.

"It's mistletoe!" Alpine exclaimed, "We're going to hang it up by the door and next people who walk through will have a surprise."

Bazooka still didn't understand.

"Mistletoe, you know what you have to kiss under?"

"Oh, okay. I thought you meant there was a missile shaped like a toe somewhere. My grams always put that stuff up. I don't think anyone kissed under it though."

"Well, they'll kiss under this one." Alpine stated matter-of-factly.

"Actually, we're hoping to get Flint and Lady Jaye." Cover Girl bounced slightly at the thought of catching them. "She just went looking for him and when they come back, we'll have them."

Bazooka was confused, "Why do we want to have them?"

Alpine let out an exasperated rush of breath, "You are the most obtuse person I know. Because they sneak around as if it's the secret of the century, but we all know. Maybe if we can surprise them now…"

"They won't have to try and surprise us later." Cover Girl concluded. "This is just what they need. But we need everyone to cooperate, so spread the word."

Bazooka still didn't understand how the miniscule plant was going to solve the pair's romantic woes but decided to play along. Cover Girl and Alpine clearly were convinced it was the right action to take. They wouldn't steer him wrong so Bazooka whispered it to Roadblock as he filled his glass, who then whispered to Gung-ho. Clutch overheard it, mentioned it back at the poker table and soon the whole room was ready for the first overt public display of affection between their third in command and Jaye.

It was another matter entirely when instead of Flint, Ripcord first entered the room, followed a few seconds later by Lady Jaye. No one had thought to pay attention to the comings and goings of their teammates or to stall those they wished to ensnare. Bazooka's eyes grew wide. He knew no good could come from this. The others weren't thinking as clearly.

Alpine shouted out to them, stopping them in their tracks. He pointed out the object above to their attention. The undercurrent of the room picked up and several shouts and whistles filled the space. Lady Jaye and Ripcord looked up, then at each other, and up once more.

Transfixed, Lady Jaye whispered to Ripcord, "Is that what I think it is?"

Ripcord's eyes darted back and forth from Lady Jaye to the object. "If it's what I'm thinking it is then it's what you're thinking it is." The two stood there, unsure of what to do. Ripcord knew what the response was customarily but he felt glued to the spot. He, like many of the other men, had answered Girogi's call to arms. Any sudden moves and he feared the tilting earth would swallow him whole. It was best to stay firmly planted.

Several of the teammates called out, "Come on Ripcord, you know what you have to do," while others shouted out, "Kiss her!" Cover Girl's laughter rang above the crowd. For the moment, she abandoned her original plan. This was far too much fun. Clutch starred across the room at her, contemplating how he could manage to maneuver her under the plant.

Ace leaned down, whispering into Mainframe's ear, "Listen, double or nothing, he goes for the lips."

Mainframe's eyes lit up, finally a bet with Ace worth taking. He may not know much about the gambling world, but he knew his friends, and at these odds he was willing to lay down a little cash. "You're on," he whispered back, "cheek, only the cheek."

Ace folded his arms, satisfied the computer geek would cough up yet some more dough. It was going to be a nice Christmas under his tree once he was through with these guys. He took in the scene before him certain that his prediction would pay off.

Lady Jaye and Ripcord stood there, awkward and self-conscious of the attention bestowed upon them. Looking up at the shiny green plant above, Lady Jaye knew it didn't get up there on its own. Lady Jaye's eyes wandered away from the plant and darted around the room, quickly finding the source of her predicament. Alpine sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, mouthing an apology that fell on deaf ears. Ripcord, for his part, thought it was funnier than anything and glanced over at Jaye, the pink tint to his cheeks otherwise betraying his apparent calm demeanor.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Well Jaye, pucker up." He couldn't be certain if it was the wine, Roadblock's special punch, the lack of sleep, or maybe a combination of all the above, but somehow he found he possessed a swagger usually painfully absent. If it was a show the boys wanted, why not have a little fun with it? Jaye was alright; she was just one of the guys after all.

A more alert sober man would have thought through his actions to their inevitable repercussions. Tonight, Ripcord was not that man. Throwing caution to the wind, he reached over, and taking Lady Jaye by surprise, dipped her back, and to Mainframe's consternation, firmly planted a kiss on her lips. Lady Jaye, herself no stranger to the wine and merrymaking, lost her footing as Ripcord dipped her back. On instinct, she grabbed Ripcord to keep from tumbling to the floor. Her arms encircled Ripcord's neck as his lips met hers.

The dining hall door swung open in the midst of the moment. With their lips still pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, and Lady Jaye's left leg poised in the air, the duo instinctively turned toward the sound. Lady Jaye's eyes opened wide for standing there, face a mask of stone, was Flint.


	13. Throwing in the Towel

AN: If anyone out there is still reading this, thank you for your patience. A while back I got sick and it went downhill from there. Docs didn't know what was up, but they've solved the mystery and staring at a computer screen no longer gives me nasty headaches, among other things. I really want to finish this bad boy so I hope you will decide once again to give me the honor of your time in reading. I also hope, unlike the Godspeed You! Black Emperor show I attended way back, you will not seek to get that time back to devote to something better. Thanks again!

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Officers' Dining Hall**

Flint pursed his lips as he took in the scene. Of all the things he expected to encounter when he opened the door, the sight of his girl lip-locked with a teammate was not it. Clenching and unclenching his hands, he felt the rage boil up inside him. That little voice of reason possessed by all did its best to talk him down from any dark path of fury. It, however, was a losing battle.

Flint had many positive qualities and he also had negative ones. The biggest complaint he heard from Lady Jaye was of his "jealous" nature. Flint didn't like to think of himself as jealous so much as he believed his actions were over-protective. Being over-protective was an acceptable trait. It could be argued that being over-protective kept one sharp on the battlefield and ever aware of the dangers facing one's team. On the other hand, it could also be argued that being over-protective in matters of the heart was really just jealousy by another name. Jealousy, even when displayed by the most well-intentioned of men, has a way of driving a wedge between those who should otherwise be together. At this moment, Flint didn't attach any labels to his emotions. His emotions became bigger than him.

Narrowing his gaze, Flint was aware that every ounce of his being wanted to pull the man away from Lady Jaye and beat him to a pulp. He could visualize the assault of well-placed fist after well-placed fist. Although the others were not privy to his thoughts, the look on his face foretold much. The state of his eyes, cold and steely, was normally only observed by the team under battle conditions. Even then, no one had ever wished to be on the receiving end of that stare. Some shrunk back involuntarily. Flint failed to notice. His attention was focused entirely on the two figures before him, suspended in the silence of the room. More than wanting to hurt Ripcord, he knew the true hurt was felt within, deep down inside. It was the worst kind of hurt. He felt betrayed. After all he had planned, after all he envisioned, this is what it came down to, Lady Jaye in the arms of another man.

He tried to shake it off; he knew his thoughts made no sense. Logic dictated a different set of circumstances than what his mind was spitting out. His primal self couldn't embrace logic at this point. His primal self felt defeated and sought desperately to take it out on the two intertwined figures. His rational self tried to step in, but he shoved it away. All he wanted to do at that moment was, well, he couldn't give voice to that. He didn't care what the situation was. His mom raised him better than that. The rational mind long abandoned, it was best to just walk away. He turned on his heels, ripping the door open, and barged straight through the doorway, the door swinging madly behind him, leaving an imprint of the door handle in the fragile drywall. Bits of the wall crumbled and fell to the floor, the clunking echoing through the cavernous room.

"Mon dieu," whispered Gung-ho under his breath. He exchanged a look with Wild Bill. Wild Bill, sensing the bulky marine's thoughts, tipped his hat and hastened out a side door on Flint's heels. Wild Bill knew Flint didn't really think what that look conveyed, but sometimes it was the careless look that cut the deepest.

The harshness of the slamming door was enough to jolt Ripcord out of his trance. Losing his footing, he and Lady Jaye fell to the ground, a tumble of arms and legs. Cover Girl rushed over, the guilt apparent in her eyes. She wanted to kill Alpine for this harebrained scheme but knew she had no one to blame but herself. In her haste to effectuate an outcome she was careless. Now her friend would pay.

"Oh Jaye, I'm sorry." Ripcord pushed himself off the floor and reached down to pull her up. She remained mute, stunned. She had seen that look on Flint's face once before. No good could come of it. Cover Girl arrived at her side. Feeling helpless, she needed to do something and began to brush the dust off the two.

"Courtney, stop." Lady Jaye gave her friend a gentle nudge away.

Cover Girl, emotions bubbling, sobriety fleeting, began to sniffle. "Ja, Ja, Jaye. I'm, I, I didn't mean it."

"It's all right. It's just a stupid misunderstanding."

"Bu, bu, but he . . ."

"I know, I know. I'll talk to him. It will be fine." She sucked in her breath. Saying things were fine was one thing. Things actually being fine were another.

Ripcord placed his hand on Lady Jaye's shoulder, giving a squeeze. "Listen Jaye, let me talk to him. He can hit me, punch me out, whatever he wants. I can take it."

"No. It shouldn't be that way. I'll take care of it." She glanced back at the peering crowd, "Just keep the paparazzi away, ok?"

Ripcord nodded his head.

Cover Girl, managing to pull herself together also shook her head in agreement. "Just apologize for me please."

"Courtney, it's not . . ."

"In a way, it is." Cover Girl turned back to the dumfounded Joes, "Ok boys, nothing to see here. Let's get our party back on shall we? Who's next for the mistletoe?" She stuck her hip out ever so suggestively. Her request was instantly met by a sea of hands outstretched and a chorus of "me."

Lady Jaye took the cue to slip out unnoticed. As she wandered down the darkened corridor, she tried to clear her thoughts. It was just a dumb misunderstanding. Once confronted with distance from the situation and the rational explanation, Flint would come to a cooler head. He always did. He was just hardwired to think the worse, to expect the worse. Chloe. He always blamed on Chloe. She knew better though. It just took a Chloe to bring out the worst in him. The potential was always there.

Then she saw him, just up ahead, pacing in the base's atrium. His body was still tense and drawn-in from the confrontation. He stopped in front of the long expanse of windows, staring out into the gloomy mountainside. Entering the room, she paused, waiting for him to turn around with an angry accusation. Nothing happened. Wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't hear her footsteps. She called out his name, hesitant, "Flint?" He turned; his eyes were black, closed off. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Flint, we have to talk." His face remained an impassive sheet of ice. "Don't cut me off. Not over this."

A storm cloud erupted. "Not over this? Are you kidding me? I walk in to find you wrapped up around Ripcord and we're supposed to just talk? No." He resumed his sentry-like stance, back to her.

Lady Jaye strode across the room. She was not going to be ignored. Reaching him, she pulled on his shoulder, making him face her. "Don't you ignore me Flint. It wasn't what your mind imagined. Just hear me out."

"Oh I heard you out all right."

"No. No you didn't. Please, just listen." She couldn't help but to add, "For once."

He tossed her hand aside. "There's nothing to say. How can you stand there after what you did? After what you know? How could you do that to me? I don't think I want to be around you right now."

"Flint, it was nothing. Come on, how can you not know that? Ripcord was just acting on what everyone shouted out. Alpine put up some mistletoe. We walked in together after I couldn't find you." She struggled to put into words what seemed to be so elementary. "Ripcord was just going to give me a peck but I lost my balance. There was nothing behind it."

"So the others were in on it?"

She rolled her eyes, "There was nothing to be in on. Why do you have to be this way?" She wanted to shake sense into him, to make him see the folly of his ways. She was tired of it.

Feeling mocked, his rage erupted, "How else can I be?" Without thought, without control, he watched from a distance as he abandoned all of his plans and turned a cold shoulder to her. "I should have known better than to trust you, especially considering your line of work." He felt sick inside. His stomach in ropes; he desperately wanted to hide. It had all gone so wrong. Everything he planned came to a crashing halt. It would all be for naught, especially now. He had to get himself together. Losing it like this only created more damage—split them further apart. His words were a dagger to her heart though. He knew it. Yet, he couldn't stop it. The hurt was too ingrained. The words came too readily. What did it mean?

Lady Jaye took a step back. Never, not once in all of their time together, had he ever brought up her job in such a calculated, wounding way. Despite his jealousy, despite his temper, not once had he questioned her loyalty to him. It was almost an unspoken agreement. He knew she sometimes had to be in some rather compromised positions. It kept her alive; it kept many others alive. He long ago learned to accept it as but a facet of the person he loved. At least that's what Lady Jaye thought. It seemed, however, that maybe Flint wasn't so accepting of her work for the team. Maybe it gnawed away at him and he kept it hidden from her. She wondered what other thoughts he suppressed. Was it the suppression that made him act how he did? At that moment, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out. She felt done.

The look on Lady Jaye's face was enough to rattle his rational mind into action. It slipped in and took over his brain, bringing the situation into light. He knew he had blown it again. He had taken that one step too far. She would understand though. If he wanted tonight to turn out right, she would have to understand. After all, she always did. "Jaye, I'm sorry. I, I didn't mean that." As he took a tentative step toward her, he cringed, waiting for her tongue lashing. He would take it. It was what he deserved. Then, they could move on. He could explain everything and make it right. She would see that he wanted her, and only her. No more secrets, no more hiding, for once they could just be.

For Lady Jaye it wasn't a matter of a simple tongue lashing anymore. The situation had gone far beyond that. She was tired of taking it, of letting moments slide. There were things left unsaid between them that she needed to get off her chest. She couldn't be content to accept this aspect of his personality. Looking across the years, she knew she would never survive. If it wasn't an interaction with Ripcord, a friend and teammate, it would be someone else. In the end, there would always be something. Despite all she felt, all she wanted, in the end, maybe it wasn't to be. Maybe she had to start accepting that as the true reality and not what she concocted in her head.

She looked past him, "I don't make you happy." She felt it was a true enough statement but it skipped over her part in the matter. Too often she was used to phrasing things from "others" perspectives, viewing the world through their lenses. She was her own person deep down and it was time to stand up and speak her voice. "I'm not happy." The words, heavy with emotion, fell to the ground. Happiness, that intangible ideal pursued and fought for over millennia, was their barrier. Why it had become so and when it started she didn't know how to express. Why was it so easy to dominate everyone else but him? Around him, she felt as if she was folded into another person, part of a whole. She liked that. He understood her reputation but it made no sense to him. He knew the Alison that cried with every viewing of "Penny Serenade." He'd hold her close and ignore the tears grazing his wrist. "_If they knew this Jaye, you'd be in trouble wouldn't you?_" She elbowed him in the side. He grinned that grin. But that moment couldn't make up for the scene she just went through. It couldn't erase the thought that it would be a scene forever repeated. She couldn't picture a life led avoiding egg shells of male contact because Flint might take it the wrong way. Would a simple hello to a store clerk send him into a frenzy?

Flint opened his mouth to speak. Lady Jaye held up her hand, effectively silencing him. "Please listen to me." She paused a moment before continuing. That brief bit of silence felt to Flint as if his whole life had passed before his eyes. She almost didn't need to vocalize her thoughts. The resignation was apparent in her eyes. Flint could see it. He could always see when something was wrong. He shook his head, unable to take any other action. He had known fear before, but never like this. It was never this true, gut-wrenching, fist clutching fear. It didn't matter what he told her by the Pit after the Cobra invasion. The fear of which he spoke back then paled in comparison to the fear he dreaded now.

She swallowed air and continued, "I can't, I can't do this anymore. I love you. I do." As she whispered that last part, she fought back the tears. She couldn't cry, not now. Once she did that all courage would be lost. She plowed ahead, "But it's not enough. It's just not enough for the two of us." She looked up at him, "I know, it's my fault really. Maybe, deep down, I thought I could change you." She gave out a half-hearted laugh, "That's what they say after all, in all those women's magazines you hate, all we want to do is diet and change you. But that's been selfish of me. I've been selfish. Part of it was feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I had a place. There was a place for me. I wanted to be a part of it all, you, your family. I wanted it all so desperately. I think I overlooked the signs that in my desire to be what you wanted, I couldn't fulfill the role. I'm just not what you're looking for. I can't change who I am. I can't live this way."

"You don't know who I need. I do. I need you."

"But you don't, that's just it. You want to, but tell me this, if we weren't here, thrust into these situations, you wouldn't give me a second look."

"Don't say that . . ."

"You wouldn't," she quickly cut him off. "Even now it's more often that you don't. I used to think maybe you were embarrassed of me. I know now it's just your way, your way of handling things. Managing. I can see you, your future self with some happy-go-lucky girl. Me, I bring these emotions out in you that aren't right. There's somebody out there that will soothe your savage beast. I wish," she started to break down, holding back the avalanche of tears threatening to fall, looking away, seeing past him into the future, the future she couldn't face, "I wish with everything, it was me."

She placed her finger on his lips, preventing him from protesting further. He grabbed her wrist, trying to hold her hand in his. He was scared of where this was headed. He shook his head, trying to get her to stop. Looking up into his eyes, her eyes troubled and dark, she placed a kiss on his cheek, whispering, "But it's not." She spun around and raced away before Flint could stop her, leaving him standing there, mouth opened, paralyzed. It cut her to the bone but she steadied herself, fighting that urge to run back and declare it all some terrible mistake. The only mistake would be to go back. Things would never change.

In her haste, she rushed past Wild Bill, nearly knocking him over. Bill grabbed a hold of her, stopping her flight, "Hey there lady, what's wrong." He noticed the moisture glistening on her cheeks, and taking a gloved hand, he gently wiped a tear away.

She knew who he there to see, whose friend he was, and pushed away, "I'm, I'm—so sorry, so sorry," she managed to sniffle. Looking away, she bit her lip, as she dried her eyes, willing to be anywhere, just away from them all. It was too hard.

Bill wasn't about to have any of that. He reached over and held her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Hey, none of that now ya hear?"

Turning her head away, she directed him to where he needed to be. "Please, just go be with him. He needs you more." She slipped past him and disappeared into the darkened hallway. Wild Bill entered the area and saw she was right. Flint stood at the place where Lady Jaye had rejected him, shoulders slouched, hands in his front pockets. If there was a sculpture of the dejected man, here was the model.


	14. This Is the End

**December 24, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Atrium**

**Chapter 14: This Is the End**

Flint stood silent. He felt alone for the first time since he had known Jaye. The old clichéd voices of poets past flooded his mind and he was certain this was what it felt like to have your world turned upside down and ripped to shreds. He berated himself for letting the situation spin out of control. Why didn't he say something? Why did his mouth refuse to move?

Because she was supposed to lecture him, tell him he was acting like a child, and he would agree. They would stare at each other. He'd smile, she'd shake her head and then allow him to take her up in a big bear hug. But now, this? He couldn't plan for this. How did one plan for your girl rejecting your proposal before you had a chance to make it? Any certainty he had in his life was gone. But that wasn't entirely true.

There were certain things of which he was sure. First and foremost, he was confident in his intelligence. Even putting his schooling aside, he knew that he stood sometimes heads above his peers. He knew that finding a mind of his caliber would always be a difficult task. Second, he was confident in his looks. Overall, he knew he was pleasing to the eye. Genetics blessed him with a taller than average physique, sharpened by summers working his father's farm. He had his mother's eyes, the death of many a man before his father. He also possessed his grandfather's chiseled jaw. Abnormally large in its protrusion at first, he had grown into it and it cut a stunning profile. Third, he prided himself on his command of a team and on his tactical skills. It was these attributes, and his apparent knowledge of them, that gave him his reputation with the team as an ego maniac. He never had problems brushing it off. He was who he was after all.

It all changed around her. Around her, he let down his guard for the first time in years, for the first time since Oxford. With the changing of the guard came all of his old insecurities and foibles. For a time, he managed to keep them at arm's length while he kept her at bay. As he let her in, other things slipped past his defenses until he stood before her a defenseless man. It was precisely that man he wanted to be. With each passing day he grew stronger in his resolve and there was only one inevitable conclusion.

In the blink of an eye, that inevitability shattered. She was walking away, out of his life. He was the cause. He alone drove the wedge. A flood of memories overwhelmed his senses—their first meeting, running blind into the storm of Cobra eels to save the team, to impress her really, walking around the edge of the first Pit, revealing his fears, the beer they shared, the next night when she hinted at family troubles, fixing work schedules so he could "bump" into her more, her increasing suspicions at their "bumping" into each other so much. He remembered their first date, real date, when he left the beret off and she wore a dress. That was the true departure from his ego self. He let her know that he was scared at night of the unknown and that he desperately missed home. He was afraid of dying, but he was more afraid he would be the cause of it for someone else. He was afraid of making the wrong move, of letting his guard down around the others. He let her know he was afraid and she still loved him. She loved him still. As long as there was that, he couldn't give up. He would fight.

"Flint?"

Flint turned to face Wild Bill. "I messed up."

"I'll say."

"I can always count on you for support."

Wild Bill chuckled, "Just calling a spade a spade." He paused, "You know nothing happened."

"Now I do. I couldn't back then."

Wild Bill waited. He sensed Flint had more to say.

"Do you know why I joined the Army?"

"I reckon it was because you're a hundred dollar saddle with a twenty dollar horse."

Flint shook his head and continued on, "I always said I was bored with the rigors of academia, looking for something more challenging. In a way, that was true. But being me, I also just had to get away." Flint exchanged a look with Wild Bill. He could sense that the pilot knew the old turn his story would take.

"Yes, it was a girl. I was infatuated with her. She knew it. She was clever, engaging, a quick study. I thought I had met my match, but I was out of my league. She was heads above me in the romance department. She rightly took what she needed and I let her. I was a doormat. One can only be attracted to a doormat for so long. It was the excitement; it was the exoticness of the situation. She was glamorous and opinioned in a way I'd never experienced. Up until that point it had been Kansas cheerleaders all the way." Flint winked at Wild Bill, "Not that there's anything wrong with a Kansas cheerleader."

"Well, I don't know about that. I heard that Texas ones are the best."

Flint shook his head, "A fight for another day." Flint resumed his tale, "Have you ever heard of Richardson's Poetry for Study?"

"I can't say that the name rings a bell."

"Ever take a poetry class?"

Wild Bill scratched the side of his head trying to remember if poetry and his life ever intersected. Wasn't there that one freshmen seminar? "You know, I reckon I did."

"Well, chances are you read Richardson's. There's an even greater chance you no doubt hated Richardson's. In the end everyone does. Richardson's Poetry for Study is an exalted and vile tome. Anything you loved about poetry, it will kill. But the killing will make sense and you will hate it all the more for being right. I, unfortunately, must love Richardson's as no man can. Richardson's was my legacy and life for a time."

Wild Bill fixed a puzzled stare on Flint. "I'm not getting where you're going."

Flint smiled, "I'm Dashiell R. Faireborne, the "R" standing for Richardson."

"Sheesh, you wrote that book?"

"Not me, I just help edit. My great-great grandfather was its soul. The rest of the family merely fills in the flesh from time to time. He created a necessity for classrooms all over America and the UK. We serve to keep that need alive. My mother is currently editor in chief. I was supposed to succeed her. After my stint at Oxford, it was expected that I would use my training, and more importantly, contacts, to continue on in her family's footsteps. Chloe changed my trajectory."

"Chloe? I think my sister has a cat named Chloe."

"Chloe was rather feline in her moves." Flint turned away for a moment, a random memory floated across his head. Move was the wrong word. Chloe seemed to float on air, her muscles deftly navigating her body as if she was always a part of where she wanted to be. Flint let the memory slip away. For so long he allowed it to torture his mind. Now he wished it to be gone forever. It no longer had any hold on him.

"Chloe was not a cat but a woman, a very beautiful, clever, devilish woman. She was another scholar from London. She was sophisticated in every way. At parties, she knew the right drink to request and the right outfit to wear. She knew what she wanted and what she had to do to get it. Naturally, she was attracted to me." Flint winked, "Me being the best looking man in the program of course."

Wild Bill shook his head. Some things were to be expected from Flint.

"I assumed that what we shared was mutual. How could she resist my charms, as rustic as they no doubt were to her? The joke was on me. Chloe had her own agenda. By sheer dumb luck I stumbled upon it when I arrived back at my residence unexpectedly when a lecture was cancelled. Chloe had free reign to my room. She decided to use that free reign to entertain my best mate. A less confident man would have recognized the situation as it developed. I had cast a blind eye. It was, in a word, humiliating. She only took up with me for a chance to work for Richardson's. My mate, Gerard, was who she should have been with. I don't know how long they had been going on behind my back. It was the usual story; they wanted to tell me but just didn't know how. It didn't matter.

"Academia was a rough and tumble world of everyone looking out for themselves. It was dirty and deceitful. The chase for elusive tenure, for the elusive book deal, made rogues out of them all. I couldn't live that life. I dropped out. My mom was disappointed. She had already lost Butler to the farm."

"Wait now a second. You had a butler?"

"No, my older brother Butler."

"That's some weird names your mom gave out."

"We were at the leisure of whatever my mom happened to be lecturing or studying. For me, she kept herself company late at night with mysteries and detective yarns. For Butler, she was teaching a seminar on Yeats. For Day . . ."

"Day?"

"Yeah, he was the most unfortunate of us all. She was writing a paper on Cecil Day Lewis. My father vetoed Cecil, so the little guy became Day.

"With the loss of Butler and myself, my mom gave up hope that Richardson's would continue under the family. Day was in no shape at the time to be the great hope. Things looked bleak. The publication was hemorrhaging money and I had run off and joined the Army. In hindsight, it was probably a coward move but it turned out for the best. I recommended Chloe for the board."

"Wait now a second, the cheater?"

"Yes. She was a cheater but damn if she couldn't navigate those academic circles and open closed doors. We needed someone like her. I guess it's the whole keep your enemies closer. She married Gerard. I didn't go. I see her rarely.

"Day turned out to be the other thing Richardson's needed. He has no ear whatsoever. But he knows numbers and business. He turned the old ship around and created an empire. He convinced the worthless members to restructure the board and give proxy to him. He launched new titles, and entered new markets. Turns out, Brazil is quite lucrative. He has his sights set on the Commies. The Soviet Union is crawling with potential readers for Richardson's Guide to Russian Poets and who knows what can happen with China if we partner with the right folks." Flint paused, "I know you're wondering why I wasted your time with this."

"I reckon you'll saddle up that horse. You're good for that."

"I thank you in advance for your kindness. This meandering tale has an end. What I am is the sum part of my experiences. Alison, I mean, Lady Jaye knows everything and doesn't care. She understands everything and still made the decision to stick by me. Jaye took it all. The boys like to rib me about her fortunes and call me a gigolo looking to strike it rich. It doesn't matter. I have my own. She and I, we're the same person divided long ago. Whatever I had to go through to find her, whatever path I had to take, it was worth it to become whole once more. She is worth everything and I let her down."

Wild Bill could only nod his head in agreement and stand beside his friend. Flint continued, "It wasn't anything like she imagined. It's just that . . ." Flint's words tapered off. He stood there, silently thinking, regrouping, and he began again, "Bill, there's no one else, no one I want but her. I was going to let her know too." Flint reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. He held it up to Bill, who, puzzled, took it from his hands.

Bill opened the lid to reveal a delicate engagement ring, bright and shiny, waiting to be placed on someone's finger. Bill let out a low whistle, "Wow, I'll say there partner, were you ever going to tell her." Bill closed the lid and handed it back, glad to not be responsible for Flint's precious cargo for any moment of time longer than necessary.

Flint held the box tight before placing it back in his pocket. "It was my great grandmother's. We had everything set, my family that is, for this Christmas, Christmas Eve to be precise. She'd be a member of the Faireborne clan in time for Christmas. I know, it's a bit cheesy, but I thought she'd like it. Besides, if I did it without my parents around, well at least my mom, I'd never hear the end of it." Flint turned back to the window, looking out at the falling snow, "I was going to wait until our next leave, but my mom's itching to get things started. When she found out we would be stationed here, she sent my brother packing and he met me in Germany with the ring. That's why I disappeared for a few days. I couldn't tell anyone. Secrets don't stay quiet for long around here." He chuckled, "Poor Butler got off the plane and had to turn around and get right back on another," shaking his head, "once I got it, I've been itching to do it. It's been burning a hole in my pocket, but the timing's been all wrong. I couldn't get Hawk alone. I can never get her alone. The one time I got her alone, she was sleeping. I just wanted to do it right. Even this, I can't do right." Flint's shoulders slumped, resigned to his fate. "Maybe she was right in a way. Maybe I'm not good enough for her and—_humruff_—hey, what did you do that for?" Flint began to rub the spot on his forehead where Wild Bill had slapped him upside his head. "Not you too?"

"Listen here, I'll not be hearing those words. The two of you, who's good for who. Sheesh, the way you two prattle on, it's a miracle anyone's right for anyone else. I will tell you one thing. I've seen many a thing in my life and if you two aren't right for each other, I'll eat my hat. I reckon it don't taste too well so I don't say this lightly. If I tell you a hen dips snuff, you can look under her wing. Do what you have to and make it right. You round up that filly and grovel like you've never groveled in your life. The boys and I will back you up. We just need a plan . . ."

Wild Bill's musings on love and marriage ended abruptly when a thunderous boom was followed by the atrium windows imploding and sending a rain of silver shards down upon their heads. Flint, tempered by his training, threw himself at Wild Bill like a lineman sacking a quarterback, and the two skidded across the smooth tile, the steel frame of the skylight crashing down upon where they were just standing. The base shook again and more explosions filled their ears. A dark, dank smoke settled around them. Crouching down in the corner, they waited for the scene to clear. Exchanging glances, they knew Hawk's timeline was just shot to hell. Scampering up, they both bolted toward the vehicles. Cobra had brought the fight to them.


	15. Not by the Hair of my Chinny Chin Chin

**December 25****, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia: Temporary Personnel Quarters**

**Chapter 15: Not by the Hair of my Chinny Chin Chin **

Slamming the door behind her, Lady Jaye allowed herself to give in to her emotions. The walk through the corridors to the personnel quarters had been agony. She didn't dare allow herself to display anything other than a calm, cool exterior. Soon enough the tale of her talk with Flint would spread like wildfire around the base. It was the rare event that remained under the gossip radar. While she trusted Wild Bill to keep to himself anything Flint revealed, who knew who else was in listening range. Sometimes she hated, no, despised, living in such tight quarters. She longed for space and privacy. Looking at the cramped room, her face crinkled up as she realized at least one of those desires was realized.

Leaning against the door, she gave in to the sorrow as a silent scream escaped her lips and built to a full wail. She bit her lip to contain the sound lest someone hear. The salty metallic taste threatened to make her sick. Slumping down to the ground, her face was damp and hot and her body shook with silent sobs. _Why_, _why_, was the only word that echoed in her head. It kept coming out, fast, furious, accusatory.

She loved him. She loved him in a way she couldn't imagine loving anyone else. Despite his bravado and jealous nature, she loved him for exactly who he was. But his comment about trusting her hurt in a way she couldn't explain. Flint was the sum of his words. He neither minced nor exaggerated what he said. Every word he spoke had meaning. It wasn't possible that he could say he didn't trust her and not mean it on some level. It tore her inside because he knew there were matters of which she could not speak. Even though she wasn't free to discuss them with him, it was always an implied understanding that she had nothing to hide. By far the worst situation she found herself in was a round of heavy petting with that Russian until he passed out from the "cocktail" she served. Flint couldn't find fault when she was then able to retrieve the code that defused the bomb, saving everyone in Country Club Plaza, a rather nice outdoor mall in Kansas City. Remembering that mission made her smile for she definitely felt no guilt later partaking in some leisurely shopping after debriefing. To the victor went the spoils, or something like that.

She knew it wasn't her work that bothered her. If it was just work, she would have been able to let Flint's comments bounce off her. No, it was her time before and the life she quietly left behind when she accepted Hawk and Duke's invitation to become a Joe. It was a time before she was anything she was now. It was a time she hadn't shared with Flint.

Lady Jaye came to the realization that Flint was right; he should know better than to trust her for she couldn't trust herself. She couldn't trust herself to be fully honest with Flint. She could fool herself for a time by arguing that it didn't matter; it didn't impact them. In the end though, how could she ever berate Flint for his flaws when she couldn't, no, wouldn't, share hers? She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the door. No, she had taken the easy way out. She wondered how to break the news to Hawk that she wanted a transfer. Although she and Flint could no doubt soldier on, it would be folly to torture herself like that day in and day out. He would persist and she would give in. Things would never change. More than anything, she wanted to pass out and be done with the world.

A thunderous roar startled her out of her despair. Lady Jaye opened her eyes just in time to roll away from the door as the outside wall exploded, sending a rain of glass, plaster, concrete, and the poor hapless radiator, flying across the room. A shard hit her in the temple and she winced as she rolled for cover under the bed. Somewhere in the distance another explosion racked the base. The floor vibrated and balked, the ceiling dropping minute pieces of plaster. She remained crouched down, arms protecting her neck. As a child on the Vineyard, her school conducted Nor'easter drills in which the children would rush to cower under their desks, arms protecting that precious swatch of skin. It was second nature to assume that position now.

In a moment, the movement settled and she went on autopilot. Abandoning the refuge of under the bed, she looked around for something more appropriate to wear. Her head felt woozy but the cut didn't seem too bad. She'd survive. Another boom shook the base. Grabbing her boots by the foot of the bed, she decided there wasn't time for anything else; she'd fight in what she wore. It couldn't be the first time someone went to war sporting couture.

Crawling across the floor, she reached up, testing the door knob. It was cold. Cautiously she opened the door a crack and peered to the right and to the left. She gasped. All but fifteen feet to the left, the personnel quarters were no more, completely disintegrated by whatever dropped. Had she been one room over—she shuddered at the thought. She broke out into a run, rushing to get to the motor pool, grab her javelins, and be whatever help she could. _Merry Christmas, love Cobra_. So far, this was turning out to be the worst holiday season ever.

The hallways became a maze of smoke and rubble. With the overhead lights knocked out, Lady Jaye couldn't tell if she was coming or going. Finally she reached a corridor that seemed vaguely recognizable. Other Joes making their way converged and she slowed down into a fast trot, happy that she at least was probably going in the right direction. A familiar face settled next to her.

"Jaye? What happened to your head? Are you ok?"

"Yeah. It's just a superficial cut. But Courtney, what happened?"

"I don't know." Cover Girl floundered, "It's like they knew exactly when to attack, where, and how. This place is falling apart. Clutch says that the motor pool is in sad shape and we lost some of the airfield. Thank heavens we had the dinner. They took out half of the quarters."

"I saw."

"Where's Flint?"

"I don't know." Lady Jaye was thankful they reached the motor pool at that point. "What's the word?"

Cover Girl pointed to a row of A.W.E. Strikers racing out. "We got those dug out and are clearing out another batch. Duke is sending out two man teams, drivers and gunners."

"Just point me to the next available truck."

Courtney pushed her toward a vehicle a few feet away. "That's the next one to go. I don't know who's driving but there's no gun operator. Take that one."

Lady Jaye turned toward the vehicle but was stopped by a firm tug on her shoulder from Cover Girl. She spun around, her eyes questioning. Cover Girl took off her parka. "Here, take this. You're going to need it."

"But what about you?"

"I can grab another one as soon as I get the tanks clear." Cover Girl shook her head, "I hate when they get my babies."

Lady Jaye shoved an arm into a resistant sleeve on the fly. Cover Girl wasn't kidding. Half the motor pool was buried under the collapsed ceiling. Duke had joked that the old base was a deck of cards waiting to collapse. But that wasn't accurate. No, they occupied the pig's house built of straw. A huff and a puff was all Cobra needed to gain the edge and best them.

Hopping into the striker, Lady Jaye began to run down the equipment check list and fired up the laser target designator. The driver seat was empty and she wanted to be ready to roll out as soon as possible. The sounds of the bombing had resumed and the jeep was shaking and jittering. Up ahead strikers and some tanks were making their way around the motor pool rubble. Suddenly the driver door opened and she caught her breath, Flint.

Flint froze. This was an unexpected turn of events. A voice shouted behind him, "Come on Flint, hustle up." Flint gulped and settled into the seat. He glanced over at her and sighed. Here it was, his first test. Could they still work together after what happened? Part of what made them one of the best teams was their instinctive knowledge of how the other would respond. He always sensed how she would move and she likewise him. He couldn't kid himself and deny that some of their on the field chemistry was a result of their off the field chemistry. Would that be lost? Could she still work with him? He knew better than to ever doubt her commitment. It was just his resolve that faltered.

Lady Jaye placed a hand on his wrist, "We can do this same as always. We have to. I still trust you above anyone. I hope that hasn't changed."

He gritted his teeth together, "No." His voice felt raspy and foreign. He knew she was right. They could do this. Putting the striker into gear, Flint handed Lady Jaye a headset. "Clutch made a few modifications to this one. You can talk to me or Command with this. Press the button on the right to get Command. No dashboard necessary." Putting on his headset, Flint eased into a comfortable roll, "Place your seats in an upright position and lock your tray table in front of you." Lady Jaye rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the side. Somehow that joke never got old with him even though she thought it was overplayed about 800 times ago.

Flint, with a glimmer of hope that he could turn things around, felt his confidence boost. He hit the gas and the striker lurched forward, swerving around the concrete and steel remnants from the bomb strikes. Up ahead, the first wave of strikers was taking defensive maneuvers, buying time for the grease monkeys to get the tanks in gear. Through his headset he could hear Ace call out signs to the few pilots that made it up.

As their striker crossed over into the darkness of the early morning, Lady Jaye drew in a sharp intake of breath. It was like crossing over into hell. The bomb assault had done its job. The base was now short a few buildings and the main building, where the Joe team had set up shop, was leaking smoke and fire. Its spartan façade was a checkerboard of blast and bullet holes. The makeshift airfield was a smoldering crater. Any plane that managed to make it up would have to get really creative in coming back down. The searchlights from the base cut huge swaths against the sky, which seemed alive with the buzz of Cobra rattlers. Everywhere she looked, the enemy awaited. How did they ever manage to amass such an army without the Joes knowing? How could they have inflicted such damage in so little time? Nothing made sense. She grabbed the controller for the mini-gun and awaited Flint's command.


	16. The Time to Kill a Snake

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georg****ia**

**Chapter 16: The Time to Kill a Snake Is when He Raises his Head **

The rattlers were coming in fast and furious; the air was thick with smoke and exhaust. A small cavalcade of Joe vehicles fought back against the oncoming assault, but the numbers were against them. Cobra appeared to have squadrons of rattlers and hiss tanks to throw at them.

"So . . . much . . . for . . . our . . . little . . . reconnaissance . . . mission," Flint paused between each word as he deftly navigated around Hiss tanks and plane strikes. "No way they could have hidden all this," he quipped as he piloted the jeep out of range from an oncoming Hiss tank. He directed his voice to Lady Jaye, "Anytime now."

"I'm working on it. Radar won't lock on anything. Maybe it's too cold?" Her voice came out hurried and concerned.

"Clutch said he . . . Whoa!" Flint directed the jeep into a controlled skid to avoid collision with another striker. "Clutch said they compensated for the weather."

"Well, we have a dud then. Switching to manual." Lady Jaye overrode the radar and aimed the gun on sight alone, a difficult feat given the constant jostling. Looking up into the sky, she fired, "Now!" The gun fired several rounds, which seemed to have no effect on the rattler. In fact, Lady Jaye could swear that the gun fire went through the aircraft. "Flint, we have a problem."

"Sing me a different song sweetheart."

Lady Jaye took a deep breath and fired again with the same results. She opened the gun up and sent off volley after volley into the air. Heck, she'd foot the bill if Duke thought she went too trigger-happy with the ammo. She knew she had to have hit something sooner or later but there were no signs she'd so much as scratched the paint. Even stranger, many of the rattlers that were exchanging rounds with the Joe forces on the ground were either very bad shots or straight out of an afternoon kids cartoon because they couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, as Wild Bill was yelling in everyone's ear. Lady Jaye threw off the headset. She couldn't hear herself think with all the chatter. She glanced over at Flint, whose face was a mask of stone as he directed the squad, and wondered how he did it.

Flint was the most relaxed he'd been since having his grandmother's wedding ring sized for Jaye's finger. Once he committed to that task, it consumed his being and he found it difficult to concentrate on anything else except executing the perfect proposal. The perfect proposal relied less on his specific skills as a military tactician than on pure dumb luck. He simply was out of his element and could never truly settle in his skin. But this, trouncing a few Cobras, was something he could control. He could lead his men and fight the bad guys in his sleep. The constant chattering on the headset was a welcomed friend compared to the rest of his week thus far. The noise served as a background to his driving. It kept him from getting too complacent. It also planted an observation in his mind; the same observation that was currently being bandied about in Lady Jaye's head.

"Dr. Brunning!" the two shouted in unison.

"But he said they weren't close yet." Lady Jaye struggled to make ends of what they were facing.

"Maybe they got lucky?" Luck, Flint was really hating luck lately. Conversation on the headset caught his attention. It was Ace. _"Duke, I swear I just flew through a rattler. I was banking and there was no room to maneuver out of his way. I thought I was a goner."_ Flint turned up the volume on the chatter with Command.

"Flint, your left!" Lady Jaye managed to yell out as an enemy plane banked sharply in front of their striker, straightening its trajectory and placing them firmly in its sights. Flint, sweat visible on his brow, mentally chided himself for taking his concentration off the action. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and thrust his body into the motion of pulling the jeep to the right in an attempt to throw off the pilot's aim.

"Hang on it's gonna get choppy." He piloted the vehicle off the trail around the base and onto the surrounding rocky terrain. Lady Jaye reached up and held on tight to the strap hanging next to the door and braced her body, holding on to the seat with her other hand. The small vehicle bucked and jumped as Flint navigated around the patches of ice and boulders.

"How about a little cover!" Flint shouted.

Lady Jaye opened fire on the target, nothing. Flint swerved the jeep around and got them behind the rattler, which kept on its course, hardly noticing that its target escaped. He relayed his thoughts into the headset, "Duke, I think Benning was wrong on Cobra's progress."

Back at the base's command center, Duke was pacing behind Mainframe as the computer tech ran various programs to come up with a solution. Duke was loathe to face Hawk with a mission so out of control. This was beyond the typical Joe snafu he had come to expect. A firefight on another sovereign's soil, with specific orders not to engage in said firefight, occupation of a Russian base that was now partially-destroyed, and countless heavy vehicles smashed to smithereens under a collapsed roof, not to mention the men he had just sent out into subzero temperatures to fight an invincible enemy, were not what he would classify as a success. It was enough to cause premature grey, if he wasn't already prematurely grey. Just for Men hidden in a can of hair gel and no one was none the wiser.

"Mainframe what have you got for me?"

"Well Duke, if we can amplify some type of counter signal, it may be enough to scramble whatever their throwing at us."

"How long?"

"I could probably have something in a day, or two." Mainframe was nervous. He was used to being asked to achieve the impossible. This, however, was truly the impossible. He was being overly optimistic in his estimate. Trying to create a program to fight off a program he had never inspected and which produced results beyond anything he had read in his comic books was bordering on the ridiculous.

"Mainframe . . ."

"I know, I know. Not days but hours."

"Try minutes."

"Duke!" Duke turned to face a rather frazzled green shirt who was listening in to the battle field chatter. "Sir, we have reports that our counter strikes are hitting some of the marks but have no effect."

"Let me hear that." Duke pushed the green shirt out of the way and put on the man's headphones. Sure enough he could hear Wild Bill hooting and hollering about some barn. "Squad leaders, report in." At that moment Ace relayed his bizarre encounter with the rattler and then Flint called in his report.

"Duke!"

"Here Flint."

"Duke, I think Benning was wrong on Cobra's progress."

"What do you mean?"

"Tell Mainframe that the refraction is up and running. I don't know how they're getting live rounds off these things, but we're getting clobbered out here."

"Mainframe's working on it. Hang tight and relay to your squad. Half of Cobra's army isn't there."

"Roger, Flint out."

Duke put down the headset, "Mainframe, if those airplanes out there are refractions, how do they have ammo?"

"Maybe they're flying small drones. Maybe they don't have ammo and the rattlers that are there are loaded down with more armament than usual."

Duke's attention was caught by another green shirt. "Sir, here's a report you must hear." He handed his headset over to Duke.

"Duke here."

"Duke, Alpine. Listen, this sounds crazy but Bazooks and I saw the strangest thing. One of the buildings that just went down wasn't fired upon at all."

"What do you mean?"

"There weren't any Cobras on the scene. It blew sky high, almost took us out, but no snakes. It's like the blast started from within."

"Where are you now?"

"We're hiding close by."

"Ok, listen, I need you to check it out. Be careful, stay safe, and don't let anyone see you."

"Roger, Alpine out."

Duke shook his head as he relinquished the headset back to the awaiting green shirt. Mainframe looked quizzical. "I tell you, this gets stranger and stranger. Now we have buildings blasting of their own accord." Duke stared at the Russian's old monitor piping in a black and white grainy image of the fight raging outside. "I get the sinking feeling we've been set up." He turned to the computer tech, "Mainframe, god's speed now. I need to speak with Hawk."

Outside the crumbling walls, Flint radioed his group, "We've got a problem guys. Half their army isn't really here. Until we can jam, keep aware. Don't go stingy with the bullets. Unload even if you don't think you have a shot." He muted his set, "Ali, I hope your geek works fast otherwise we're not going to last with a fire sale on our rounds." His face was grim.

More than anything, Lady Jaye wanted to reach out and touch him, offer him some reassurance that they would get out of this. Working together they'd managed to finagle themselves out of some harrowing close calls over the year. They each had the scars to remind them. But now, she was afraid of what signal she would send. This disconnect she erected was starting to wear thin on her. She wanted to take it back. Some things when spoken though couldn't be taken back. The moment she said she was unhappy changed everything between them. Now all she could offer was an encouraging grin and the insincere observation that Mainframe was one of the fastest geeks around. Flint seemed to sense as much and kept his fears to himself.

The team's new approach appeared to produce some tangible results. The "shoot 'em up" style, as coined by Wild Bill in a terrific yelp as he downed an actual rattler, resulted in some direct hits and a few take downs of the enemy planes. At last the Joes were fighting back and reclaiming the battle from the Cobra win column. Lady Jaye and Flint, however, were having some difficulties with a rather persistent set of birds.

"Flint, on your right."

Flint swung the jeep around into a tailspin, trying to dodge the enemy fire. The pling and plang of a stream of fire on the roof resulted in a deafening static filling Flint's ears. "Damn!" Flint threw the headset down, rubbing the side of his head, "Transmitters gone." He hated to admit it, but it could be that his number was called for on this one, "'In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, he plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning'. . ."

"No, you are not going Owen on me!" Lady Jaye was furious. Flint only went to Wilfred Owen when he believed hope was running out.

"Fine, 'I knew a simple soldier boy who grinned at life in empty joy . . .'"

"No, keep Sassoon out of this."

Flint opened his mouth to speak but before he had a chance to utter a syllable, Lady Jaye cut him off, "And no, there's no corner of a foreign field that's forever America." Lady Jaye crossed her arms, daring him to say more. When Flint began to doubt during a firefight he tended to rely on British World War I poets.

Flint pulled the jeep into a hard turn, narrowly avoiding collision with a mound of boulders, "You've got me then. I'm all out."

"You're just being melodramatic, we can do this." The further ping of bullets against metal, followed by a black screen on the radar dashboard mount did much to stifle Lady Jaye's growing resolve. They now were essentially deaf and blind. Flint's defensive driving learned on the courses at Quantico had taken them far afield from the main line of the Joe's defense. They couldn't talk to their comrades and now, with the radar down, they couldn't see how to get back to them either.

Flint, sensing Jaye's trepidation, tried to reassure her, "'When you are old and grey and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book.'" He reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. He ignored the tear threatening to fall from her eye. It was difficult maneuvering with just his left hand on the steering wheel but, in this moment, just to get this response, he'd gladly drive with his feet. For a brief moment they exchanged glances. For her, she saw that he would do anything for her, even change his inner being if it meant she'd be happy. For him, he saw a chance, a chance that he could be in her good graces once more. He'd be dumb to lose this opportunity. In his mind, they were already celebrating the downing of three rattlers with a passionate kiss.

"LEFT!" Lady Jaye's cry almost came too late. Fighting against the centripetal forces pulling them in, Flint used every ounce of his strength to straighten their path. Pling, blam, boom was the sound that greeted his efforts as something was blown off the jeep's top. Flint did a quick sweep with his eyes, trying to discern the damage. Lady Jaye's anguished face confirmed his fear. Lying in the snow a few meters back was the smoldering husk that was once their mini-gun. Make that deaf, blind, and unarmed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lady Jaye glimpsed a shining cylinder of metal. She didn't know how Cover Girl managed it, but she owed the mechanic more than a few exclusives from the Fall Channel line. Reaching back, she pulled out the new javelin which Bazooka and she had tweaked. "We're saved!"

Flint gave her a perplexed look.

"You'll see." She rolled down her window and released the buckle on her safety belt. Using her right hand to steady herself on the window frame, she pushed off her seat and started to climb out the window. Someone other than Flint might have questioned her sanity or, worse yet, tried to pull her back into the vehicle. Flint instead knew to steady the jeep as much as possible and maintain a straight path. He reached over and grabbed her belt, his fingers trembling from the effort. The three planes playing cat and mouse with them zoomed overhead and swung around as if on a race track, zeroing in on their moving position.

As the planes swooped down, Lady Jaye blocked out the battle noise surrounding her using a mediation technique picked up from Snake Eyes. She had never been great at it until now. Flint's whitened-knuckles on the steering wheel and on her gave her concentration she didn't know she possessed. Palming the javelin, she pressed a button that lengthened the shaft so that the javelin was now twice the size. She had one shot and it had to count. Which plane? In a split second, she knew it was the one on the right. Although the planes all looked alike from the ground, her instincts told her the one on the right was different. There was something about it. Years of putting her life on the line had led her to one conclusion in these matters; never doubt her instincts. Later on the arm chair critics could point to some tangible piece of evidence to support whatever decision she made. She didn't have time to analyze the play in minute detail. It was now or never.

With the simple motion of pulling her shoulder back, she took aim and let the javelin fly. Ordinarily, she never would have stood a chance of knocking out a rattler from this distance. The law of physics still applied. This wasn't an ordinary javelin though. Physics still applied and more so when Bazooka outfitted the javelin with an internal thrusting mechanism that activated the moment the javelin left her had. Small and lightweight, Bazooka thought he could help take her preferred weapon to the next level. They never had time to take it for a test drive. A silent prayer escaped her lips that it worked.

The javelin took off in a whirl, making contact and striking the left engine of the rattler in a loud blast of flames. It was that action, making contact, that caused Jaye to let out a great holler, "It worked!"

"What?"

Lady Jaye looked down at him, "It was just a prototype; we'd never got around to testing it." She shrugged her shoulders.

Flint shook his head and smiled, "When we get back to base, you owe me for the heart attack."

Lady Jaye winked, "I'll owe you more than that if you can find the base."

Flint slowed the striker down to a crawl and turned it back to the way they came. Overhead the rattler puttered and drifted, heading into a tailspin. The two rattlers next to it disappeared into thin air. Lady Jaye and Flint watched in silence as the rattler buzzed and balked, picking up speed until it crashed into the mountainside. Neither one had any expression on their face as they searched the air for some sign the pilot had ejected. Although they were at war, they never forgot what side they were on and wouldn't wish that anyone, friend or foe, should perish due to exposure in these conditions.

Flint whispered, "'You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye, who cheer when soldier lads march by, sneak home and pray you'll never know, the hell where youth and laughter go." He turned his attention back to Lady Jaye, "Let's get back . . . ." His words were cut off by a low rumble. His reverence was replaced by horror.

"Flint, what's wrong?" Lady Jaye turned to look at what transfixed Flint. "Oh no."

"Move! Now!" The mountain where the rattler crashed was headed their way in a rumble of rocks and snow. Flint grabbed Lady Jaye by the belt and yanked her into the jeep while stepping on the gas. It was too late. The rushing mass had caught up with them.

The striker was no match for the ensuing avalanche. As the snow and rocks gathered momentum, the relatively light-weight vehicle was picked up and tossed about like popcorn, tumbling bumper over bumper on the precipitous terrain and down the mountain's ridge, until its windshield came in full contact with a protruding boulder. The boulder pierced the glass. Flint exhaled a long slow breath as he stared at a tip of the boulder a mere few inches away from his face. If his seat belt hadn't held, well, sometimes in this line of work it was best to not let your mind debate the structural integrity of equipment provided by the lowest bidder.

The jeep landed in a precarious position with Flint and Lady Jaye dangling in the air held up only by their safety belts. It seemed to Flint that any move he made, sudden or not, would capsize the vehicle and possibly start their slide anew. He glanced over to Lady Jaye. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Thankfully he managed to belt her in just in time. It wasn't a pretty job but at least it held her. He estimated that she may have cracked a rib or two, but better to have a cracked rib than a cracked skull. He completed his visual check and winced at the pain forming in his temple. His head had snapped back hard against the seat back. _That'll leave a mark_. The cold air pouring into the vehicle didn't revive him as much as he felt sleep settling in around the edges. _Stay awake, stay awake_, he mentally willed himself. It was no use. The darkness over took the edges and he faded away into sweet oblivion.

Lady Jaye snapped to with a start as excruciating pain brought her around. At first she couldn't remember where she was and she bucked against the restraints holding her. Her heart raced and pounded as she attempted to free herself. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the basics. _My name is Alison Hart Burnett. I am from Massachusetts. I was born on Martha's Vineyard. I had an older brother, James. _As she recited her personal mantra of family she felt her pulse lessen and her senses sharpen. The exploding plane, the landslide, and now, trapped in the striker. Trapped in the striker with, "Flint!" she yelled. "Flint are you ok?"

No response. Now she really wanted to get out. She squirmed a bit to the right and noticed that the force of the impact had squashed the buckle. Reaching carefully for her right boot, she'd have to cut herself out. The movement brought on a new pain in her chest and her left leg. As her senses sharpened she became acutely aware that she was in a world of hurt. She was unable to suppress the primal urge to scream out loud. Her voice echoed in her head and around the cabin. Glancing down she saw poking through her left side and thigh were metal coils, glowing with the heat they generated. She vaguely remembered Flint remarking on Clutch's modifications to the striker when she commented on the toasty-ness of her seat. Here was the explanation.

"Flint" she whispered again. A low moan responded. Through the encroaching sunrise, Lady Jaye was able to discern Flint's slumped figure. "Hang on big guy, I'll get you out." She sawed against the fabric and after a few tugs, she dropped from the seat to the dashboard below, screaming anew as the warming coils, which had cauterized her wounds upon entry, ripped the flesh open on their exit.

Her window was still open and she crawled through, holding her breath as the striker rocked with the motion. It settled down and she crept through the snow to the other side. Flint's window had remained intact. Using the butt of her knife, she winced as the glass broke and settled into the snow. Flint moaned and his eyes flickered in recognition. "Come on big guy. Stay with me." She worked at his seat belt but his weight pushed against her efforts. "Flint, I'm going to cut you out. You need to help me." Flint nodded weakly. "Fall toward me. Any other way won't work. On the count of three," she tugged against the belt with her blade, "one, two, three." On three, she ripped through the fabric and Flint tumbled out into her outstretched arms. She clenched her teeth in agony. She could do this. There was always some story on the news about a mom who seemingly developed superpowers and was able to lift a car off her child. _But a mother loves her child, you left Dash._ She struggled under his weight on the verge of collapsing.

"No!" She rallied against the voice of defeat. Grit and determination would see her through. She managed to wrap her arms around his chest and under his arms and pulled with all her might. With an audible pop, he was free and she fell back into the snow bank, Flint landing on top of her. Once out from under him, she checked him for visible injuries. There was a nasty lump on the back of his head, red and angry. His pupils dilated when she pulled up on his eyelids, but barely. Her best guess was he had a concussion. Where was Lifeline when you needed him? "Come on Flint, I need you to stay with me." She slapped him hard on his cheek. It barely elicited a response.

She knew she herself was fading fast. If she went, that was it. The cold was starting to eat through her thin pants. Made for a runway and not the actual world, she mentally chided herself for not taking the extra second to change. _But an extra second and I could have been toast_. There was no winning no matter what she did on this day. Surveying the vehicle brought no comfort. The striker's back end was smashed and its contents, including the safety kit with its flares and warming packs, were lost. Their best chance at survival was for her to get as close as she could to the base. The Joes would no doubt be looking for them. Standing up, she scanned the terrain. Under the murky dawn, all that greeted her was an endless field of white. They couldn't wait for the Joes to find them here, wherever here was. Looking up she figured if she could make it back up the ridge, she'd be a heck of a lot easier to spot.

"Ok big guy, you stay here." She managed to stuff Flint back into the jeep after ensuring its integrity. He cut a somewhat comical figure squeezed into the crumpled backseat. "It's not a Ton-ton but it'll have to do." She sighed, why was it that the only winter survival she could remember was from The Empire Strikes Back and not that three week course she took a few years back in Alaska? She packed snow around the striker's open spots in the hopes it would provide some insulation. Wiping away a tear, she couldn't help but to think of before, running away to the Pit while Flint handled the eels. The memory stabbed at her heart. The promise of then replaced with the nothingness of now. No, she resolved, if she could get them out of this, they would talk again.

Turning toward the ridge, she began the arduous task of trekking up the slope. Out of nowhere, a fierce wind developed, buffeting her body with each step. She braced her body against the howling gale and willed herself to push forward, one foot in front of the other. The elements fought back and she tumbled backward over the rocky terrain. Wiping the snow from her face she found she couldn't see the ridge. She inched ahead on her hands and knees, feeling around for the trail she knew must lie ahead. The wind raged on, the snow eddying around her body. It created a misty curtain of gray through which no light permeated. Tears froze to her cheeks and her eyelashes were heavy with the weight. Rubbing her eyes did not good. Feeling the ground cautiously ahead, she had a split second feeling of weightlessness when it suddenly gave way, and she found herself tumbling into the mountain's heart.


	17. What Use Is Light to Him that Is Blind

****A/N: Sorry it's taken so long on this. Family things happened and writing fell to the wayside, as it seems to generally be the first thing to go. I've received some nice PMs in the meantime and thanks for the nice words about the story. I fear I ramble a bit. If the details are bogging the pace down, let me know. It's hard to figure out the right balance for a fanfic. Apologies in advance for any typos or errors. Posting without the benefit of editing so I try to clean stuff up when I find it. Thanks for all who have read and hopefully will keep reading. I appreciate it.

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 17: Of what use is light to him that is blind**

Lady Jaye landed with a loud thud on the bottom of a hidden cavern, the wind knocked out of her for a moment. Lying on her back she watched as the hole above disappeared once more into the drifting snow, slowly extinguishing the only light. As the darkness engulfed her, she thought she truly knew what it was like to be alone, utterly and completely alone. She had read somewhere that everyone died alone. The thought didn't scare her or hold much sway, until now. After all, she had long since stopped counting the times Flint had reached down into the Sassoon well. Even though she had known fear, had certainly tasted death, it wasn't this. It wasn't this emptiness, this feeling of finality.

Defeated and in agony, Lady Jaye curled up into a small ball, rocking herself, trying to grasp this new reality. The tears flowed freely now. She cried for the certain loss of Flint, of Dashiell, her Dash. Her body heaved in sobs as she cursed herself for letting it end how she had. "Damn!" she exclaimed out loud, bunching her fist and pounding them into the hard dirt. The jolt of pain had the effect of breaking her out of her stupor; she dug deep for her resolve and knew if she didn't get moving, if she didn't find a way out, then Dash was as good as dead. No matter what happened to them in the future, his life depended on her right now.

She rolled up onto her hands and knees, mustering the strength to stand. Pushing herself onto her feet, she felt a moment of relief that she hadn't broken anything in the fall. There would be some nasty bruises to be sure, but at least she could stand and move. She reached out to determine the size of the cave as her eyes adjusted to its darkness. Taking her gloves off, she stuffed them into a pocket, searching along the wall for jutting rocks, indentations, anything to act as a foothold to climb. Her hands soon found some protruding rocks. Bracing herself, she tested her weight against the stone. It appeared to hold. Smiling for the first time in a while, she began what she hoped was a steady ascent to the top, feeling out blindly in the dark for the next step. She was maybe a few feet off the floor when a rock snapped, her hold gave way, and she fell to the floor, landing on her backside once more. Undaunted, she faced the wall and began to climb again. The rocks gave way sending her to the ground. A third time met with as much success.

Frustration set in and she yelled out for anyone, "Help, hello, is there anyone there? Can anyone hear me? Help, Help!" It was to no avail. She knew, deep down, she wasn't getting out. Flint would die out there and she would meet her end here. Her mind thought back to all the little things in life she would miss, knowing she was avoiding the one big thing, Flint and their last conversation. Why did she say those things? Why did he act that way? She loved him, couldn't live without him, but she was scared, too. They were always so busy trying to be what the other wanted when the answer was so simple. They already were what they needed. Grabbing an errant rock next to her, she whipped it across the dark space at the wall, furious with the world. She had put some power behind her throw and the rock smashed into the wall, creating a small avalanche of dirt, debris, and particles. Lady Jaye covered her eyes, protecting them from the dust and rubbed them when the rocks settled. Something caught her eye, it couldn't be. She rubbed them again. It was still there, a faint glow from the wall, _no_, she shook her head, _from beyond the wall_.

With renewed hope, she was back on her feet and digging furiously at the wall. Ignoring the rocks and dirt flying into her face and clogging her throat, Lady Jaye was frantic. Logically, it didn't make any sense. There was no way on god's green earth that she could dig a hole through a mountain. Logic be dammed. Gritting her teeth, she tore at the wall until her hands were numb and her fingertips raw with the effort. Thankfully, she wasn't a hand model and the healing that needed to be done would suffice. She could hear her grandmother's voice, "Alison, a proper lady does not claw at the rocks like some savage." _Oh grandmother, the things you never knew_.

She fought against the urge to sit down and rest her head against the wall. Her efforts were rewarded as the small hole grew and she could fit her hand through it. She paused, structurally, it was holding and no cave-ins were apparent. She couldn't say the same about herself. Inside, she was waiting to collapse. Flint, the thought of Flint back in the jeep kept her on task.

The opening grew and the light emanating from within cast faint shadows around her. They twisted and writhed with life of their own. They seemed to call to her and fill her mind. They laughed and taunted her. They told her that her efforts were in vain. These would be the last shadows she'd see. This would be the last light to illuminate her world. Soon, all would grow dark and she'd see no more. It felt like the voices were in her head but it wasn't the usual voice that reflected her fear. No, these were a foreign presence. She stopped digging and clutched her head between her hands, moaning for it to stop.

On her knees now, she buckled under the pressure. _Just let go_, the voices sang, _just give in to the release_.

"Noooooo!" Her scream cut through the chatter and silence replaced the words. Nothing would stop her. The hole grew to the point she began to throw herself against the wall, the force of her shoulder a crushing blow. Her impact sent more rocks and stones tumbling. Bam, bam, her shoulder ached. She kept going; she would persevere. She put all her effort and stormed the wall again. The wall gave way and she felt herself falling into the ether, unsure of where she would land.


	18. Out of the Frying Pan

**December**** 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 18: Out of the Frying Pan**

Fortunately, the ground was the same level as the cavern she had fallen into and her descent was brief. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the orange glow illuminating the room from a powdery substance coating the walls. As her vision cleared, that indescribable tingly sensation she ascribed to her instincts kicked in and she rolled to her left, barely missing the broadside of what had to be a back arm. It smashed into the dirt where her head had been, sending up a small cascade of pulverized rocks. She crawled away from the wall, scraping her face against the roughhewn ground. She ended up on her back and had to dodge again as another blow barely missed crushing her shoulder.

She rolled and weaved her way across the perimeter of the cavern, her mind never fully making out what was attacking her. It was a matter of disconnect between her eyes and her brain. Her eyes were sending signals that her brain refused to process. At first she thought she was being attacked by an enormous man. It had two legs, two arms, a torso, and a head. But the massive size and scaly flesh that stung her skin upon contact, sending tiny jolts of pain to her cerebral cortex, made her think it was more likely she was soon to be fodder for a dinosaur. The thing stood at least eight feet tall and supported its mass on misshapen over-sized haunches. Greenish in color, its chest heaved and strained under bulking muscle. On the close inspection that a blow to the shoulder provided, instead of arms the creature surely possessed tree trunks that came at her fast and unyielding. The creature's face was human enough with close-set eyes, a wide nose and thin, pursed lips. Most disturbing though were the eyes. Piercing yellow, the pupils were a dank vortex of nothing, soulless and empty. Lady Jaye felt she would get lost if she stared into them for too long, and not in that budding romance good way either. Her strength was at a four and she knew she didn't have the gas to keep going. Soon, very soon, the thing would have a direct hit. She doubted she would survive the encounter.

A shout distracted the thing and it turned toward the sound. Lady Jaye took the opportunity to scurry away out of the creature's reach. She strained her head in the direction of the sound and saw a figure crouched in a defensive position, yelling at the creature. In the dim cavern, she could barely make out the outline of what appeared to be a man, a normal man. Although not as tall as the creature, he was tall enough with a lanky build. But one well placed fist from the creature was certainly enough to break him in two. He didn't appear fazed by the monstrosity that set him in its sights and continued to yell words Lady Jaye couldn't make out. She may not have recognized the language but she recognized the subtle shift of the creature's temperament. The man was taunting the creature. He was either extremely brave or extremely stupid. Her money was on both.

The creature let out a vicious roar and lunged forward with supernatural speed. The man was prepared, however, and suddenly wielded a knife in his right hand, slashing at the monster. The monster, expecting the upper hand, yelped and jumped back. The man took the offensive, slashing at the monster and the air, seemingly happy to make contact with any part of the thing. It was by no means a text book assault, but it worked. The creature growled with rage and pain, sloppily throwing its arms around in an effort to keep the man at bay.

The man kept coming, never relenting. He finally cast an eye Lady Jaye's way and yelled something at her. Lady Jaye shook her head and raised her arms, _I can't understand you_, she tried to convey.

The man shook his head and, in passable English, screamed "Out!" while gesturing to his left. Lady Jaye followed his hand and barely discerned a darkened mass in the wall, an exit of sorts she hoped. She nodded and pitched herself in that direction.

The creature caught a glimpse of her movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, making her his favored target. It threw its head back, bellowing in rage before rushing her. Lady Jaye knew she wasn't fast enough to beat it. She cringed, waiting for the feel of its claws digging into her flesh.

The man let out a primal yelp, throwing himself at the distracted creature. The knife sunk in the creature's back, tearing through skin and muscle. The man grunted, plunging the blade further in, a red line zigzagging in its wake. The creature arched its back but it did not good. The man clung tight to the knife putting all his effort behind it. The creature slumped to the ground, its growl becoming a whimper, the fight leaving it. Next to it, the man half-slumped, half-kneeled down, hands clasped as if in prayer, lips moving, saying words she could not hear.

Lady Jaye remained motionless pressed up against the wall. Shaking, her mind struggled to make heads or tails of the situation. For once she wished she was a ninja. They seemed to handle anything and everything with a cool calculated detachment. Nothing was shocking; nothing ever interfered with their singular goal of completing a mission. She was a mess and right now it was going to take a ninja to get through this.

She glanced across the room and observed the creature's end with morbid curiosity. With a grunt and a wheeze, the life force exited the monster until all that was left was a heap of rubbery flesh and bones, pulsating and undulating before her. She reached down and dug her fingers into her hand, praying for the pain to remind her she was alive.

The man stood up, ripped his knife out, and stumbled toward her. She was transfixed by the mutation of the monster. It was shrinking and morphing. The scales dissolved, leaving what looked like normal skin behind. Its shape became more familiar and her brain processed it as a man. Could it be that underneath it all it was human?

The man grew closer, his voice rising in an insistent command. She couldn't explain why, but he frightened her with his wild gestures and garbled tongue. Despite saving her life, she was frightened. The battle, the avalanche, the fall, the creature, she couldn't keep up. She cowered, nowhere to escape.

The man leaned down and shook her, yelling something in her ear.

She shook her head, "I can't understand you."

The man crumpled his forehead, trying to remember something. He tugged her to her feet. "Go, we go now. More, there, more." He pulled at her arm; he wasn't taking no for an answer.

At the sound of more, Lady Jaye found her reserve for he didn't have to tell her twice, "Right behind you."

The man took off into the darkness and, god help her, Lady Jaye followed right at his heels.


	19. And into the Fire

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 19: And Into the Fire**

Lady Jaye, against any better judgment, followed the man through what seemed like an endless maze of caverns. Some were massive and illuminated by that strange orange powder-others were no bigger than a tunnel in a child's back yard play ground. She followed, crawling on hands and knees, placing blind faith in the fact that her companion would lead them to safety.

At last they came to a small cave, dark, but comfortable. The sides offering recesses and smooth stones upon which they could lean against. They collapsed to the ground, extending weary legs in front as Lady Jaye took stock of their situation.

"Who are you?" There was no time for formalities.

The man shook his head, "I'm sorry, I'm not, I don't speak, um, English good."

This put a wrench in things. They weren't going to get much farther than this cave if they couldn't communicate. _Think Lady Jaye, think_, she admonished herself. She turned to her companion. One would describe him as a handsome man. He had the distinct features of what she would consider to be Eastern European; it was the shape of his jaw, the steeliness of his eyes. He could be at home in an old James Bond film, either the rogue agent or the dashing villain. His face was lean in a way that reminded her of someone who had missed a few too many meals. His eyes were dark and hardened. But it was his clothing that drew her interest, a battered blue flight suit with a Cobra insignia. She couldn't shake the feeling that it was ill-suited to him. Yes, she could picture him as the rogue, but not this, not a Cobra. There was a certain familiarity about him though, almost as if she'd seen him before. It was a ludicrous thought. She didn't make it a habit to get all close and chummy with the enemy, well Destro notwithstanding. He just didn't give off an enemy vibe. Heck, he'd saved her life. If it wasn't for him back there she wouldn't be right here.

_Think, think_, there was something she was missing. He was Cobra, but he wasn't typical Cobra. Typical Cobra spoke her language. Typical Cobra was a disgruntled American looking for an easy way out. He didn't fit the profile. He was native. He had to be Georgian. She didn't know Georgian. She may not know his language, but she figured if he was from the area then . . . "Русско, Вы говорите по-русский? (_Russian? Do you speak Russian?)_"

The man's eyes lit up, "Yes," he exclaimed in Russian, "You?"

Lady Jaye felt like something was finally going her way. "Yes, I do. How well . . ."

"Do I know Russian?" the man finished her sentence, "Just fine. We all learn it. A necessity you would say."

Now that they had that out of the way, a cautious silence settled in. He wasn't her enemy, for now, but who knew how long "for now" would last. She tested the waters further, "My colleagues call me Lady Jaye. Um, thank you, for back there." She held out her hand, praying he wouldn't snub it.

He took her offering, shaking her hand, "My colleagues, as you would say, call me Wolf." He pumped her hand and then withdrew, another awkward moment following. Although he was responsible for her life, he was not taking any responsibility for a conversation.

She decided to skip over the obvious and ask the necessary, "What was that thing?"

Wolf sighed, "I believe it was a demi."

"A demi?"

"Yes, it was a thing I thought only existed in my father's stories, but here it is in flesh and bone."

"I don't understand."

"A demi is a creature of folk tale. It is like you or me but it is also evil with the being of a demon. It is neither incorporeal nor immortal, but half demon half man. A demi was once a man but found wanting when he was no longer. Rather than atone for his deeds, the demi lives on. Not alive, not dead, the demi exists in a state we cannot fathom. It is a place of despair and hurt." Wolf paused, "I tell you these things as if they are out walking among us and not stories told to frighten children to go to church and school."

"I, I . . .?"

"I do not understand myself. Maybe the tales of today were the realities of yesterday?"

"You killed it?'

"The demi was not immortal. It could be killed."

"You did something when you killed it though. How did you know?"

"In my father's stories the demi could be saved. A maiden always prayed for its redemption. I prayed for his mercy and it was shown."

Lady Jaye reflected for a moment. Hadn't Giorgi mentioned the demi once? It was a wraith-like creature that was man and something else. It was in the context of a parable though. Giorgi hadn't meant it as something real that you could touch and could kill you.

Wolf studied her, "You do not believe this."

"I can't get my head around it."

"That is understandable."

"Wolf," she hesitated, unsure how to proceed, "how did you get here?"

Wolf pursed his lips and sucked in air, "I was engaged in a fight and my plane took a hit," he gestured to his uniform. "I tried to bank, but my rudder was shot." A shudder passed through him, "Right before my plane hit, I ejected, the wind carrying me into the mountain. The plane followed me. As I ran, the flames chased until the ground gave way. I tumbled and awoke in that cavern. I just figured out where I was when the demi struck." Wolf looked at Jaye, "And you?"

Jaye bit her lip, did she tell him the truth? She thought she knew his plane and how it took the hit.

"I was engaged in a fight as well. Our jeep took a turn too hard and rolled."

No, not yet.

"I got out and went to get help. Snow came out of nowhere. I couldn't see and there must have been an opening. I fell." She paused, reliving the moment. Saying she fell made her situation seem happenstance, too casual for how she felt inside. She embraced that almost clinical detachment. To get into any more depth would surely drive her mad. "I ended up in a cavern adjacent to yours, I think. I was trying to climb out but the rocks kept giving way until I noticed that there was light coming from beyond my cavern. I dug through the wall and found you and the demi."

"Well, now that we know how we are here, we need a way out."

"You killed the demi. Can't we go back? Maybe with the two of us we can figure a way out."

Wolf shook his head. "No, the problem with the demis is that they are not solitary creatures. They share in their pain. They will be roaming, looking for us. We best not go back. I fear they will be there."

As if to confirm his pronouncement, a chilling howl filled the cavern, standing the hairs up on the back of Lady Jaye's neck. She glanced at him, "Demis?"

Wolf blinked, bringing his finger to his lips, shaking his head side to side. He pointed behind him and crawled into a narrow recess built into the wall. He reached out and pulled Lady Jaye against him just as the ground trembled with the force of the demis' footsteps. Lady Jaye counted four pairs of hairy, misshapen feet. One was smaller than the demi Wolf had killed, the other was almost twice as large. They roared in unison, a deafening sound that racked Lady Jaye's brain like nails on a chalkboard. The demis paced the room as if sensing their presence. The demis knew they were close. Lady Jaye clenched her eyes shut, trying to block out any telltale sign. She tried to control her breathing, lest they pick up on the sound.

The demis' roar grew more desperate and insane. It was in her head and far worse than the voices she heard when she was alone in the cave. These voices screamed with an unearthly pain. They found the exposed edges of her soul and sought to ensnare her will. She wanted to comply and run out to them. As her muscles flexed, she felt Wolf wrap his arms around her in a bear hug, grounding her to the spot. She could feel the tenseness and fight in his body. She picked up on his fear as well. He too wanted to run, but she grounded him. She clung to his arms, eyes clenched, and muscles stiff. She would not give them away.

The demis' screams continued, building in intensity. All they had to do was drop to the ground and the hiding spot would be revealed. But so wrapped up in their horrified state, the demis did not appear to have intelligence on their side. They were creatures of pure emotion and their search was hindered by that. The voices started to fade and Lady Jaye knew she just needed to hang on a little longer, but it was so hard to hang on when all you wanted to do was let go.

Lady Jaye bit down into her arm to stifle the screams that sought escape. She felt Wolf burry his head in her hair. His body was one wound piece of sinew, fighting against the dark urges of the demis. She fought against the tears and anguish that the voices brought. She would never live to see the next day, it would be so much easier to let go now, to give herself over. Wolf gripped her tighter until she couldn't breathe. Even then, it didn't feel tight enough.

Almost as fast as they had come, the demis' screams began to subside and the creatures shifted their weight uneasily. They were giving up and moving on. Thump, thump went their footsteps out into the darkness, leaving Jaye and Wolf clutching each other as the voices in their heads departed after their masters.

Lady Jaye slowly allowed herself to take in more air to her lungs and she felt Wolf loosen his grip, but not entirely letting go. It didn't bother her; she didn't want him to let her go. Not yet. She feared they would come back and she knew she didn't have it in her to withstand another mental assault.

Her senses returned and her body shook as the adrenaline subsided. Wolf reassured her, "Here, here. It's all right. They won't be back."

"How can you be sure?" she barely managed to squeak out.

"Because they are instinct, only moving forward. They do not have it in them to think and move behind. Or at least that is what the stories say." He shifted his weight, gently nudging her forward. "Come, we must move."

Lady Jaye glanced back at him sharply, "I thought you said they wouldn't be back?"

"I said they wouldn't be back, not that others might not be moving forward."

"There're more of them?"

Wolf shrugged, "I don't want to be here to find out."

They rose to their feet and stretched their limbs. Now that the danger passed, she took stock of her situation. The demis were definitely in the negative column. No good would ever come from a run-in with them. Check. Wolf? She didn't know what to make of Wolf yet. An unspoken alliance had been formed, that she could count as a positive, but for how long, she didn't have any feel. Looking over at him, she sensed his uneasiness. He was almost like a caged cat, pacing the room, looking for a way out that would take them far afield from the demis. The demis, she still had so many questions she wanted to ask. Her brief chats with Giorgi did nothing to prepare her for this, whatever this was. She wanted to believe it was all a dream. When the chips were down, that's all anyone ever wanted, _right_, they just wanted it to all be but a dream. There was that nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that it was real. Each and every part of her experience was no dream. If it wasn't, then they had to keep moving and find a way out.

She leaned against a wall, pondering the situation when she noticed that the demis' footprints went one way and, "Wolf, look here."

He walked over to where she stood. "Ah, it looks like we found our path." With that, he walked in a circle a few times and started toward the new path.

"What?"

Wolf smiled, "When a Mingrelian begins a journey, he turns to the right for luck." He raised his eyebrows and Jaye detected a slight smirk on his face. It was a challenge then.

She mimicked his steps and ended up beside him, smiling, "After you."

Wolf tilted his head in approval and they began their trek once more.


	20. And the Fire Is in an Oven

A/N: OK, it was pointed out by a certain someone (you know who you are) that the lastest round of chapter titles is pretty cliched. In fact, the sarcastic "Really?" was used. I will admit that perhaps greater care could be taken with respect to naming chapters, but I was having fun. It was also pointed out that my story summary is rather blase. Couldn't agree more. Summaries have never been my strong suit so thinking of holding a contest for a better one. I'd offer up a Starbucks gift card in exchange for a summary that's guaranteed, as much as that could happen, to bring in the readers (and let's face it, the reviews, for reviews are like crack and I'm an addict now). Thanks to all who have read and thanks for the nice comments. Hope you all continue to enjoy. (Special thanks to mossley for sticking with me through my never-ending droughts).

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 20: And Let's Not Forget that the Fire Is in an Oven**

The path brought them through more tunnels and caverns, each one remarkable in the fact that it was completely unremarkable. An upward trek in one was met with a downward slope in the next, always more down than up. Lady Jaye couldn't help but to feel that they were slowly allowing the mountain to digest them. Eventually, she thought, there could be no where left to go but up.

"Demis, they're men?" She still couldn't get it straight.

"They were men, once. But now they are lost, a fragment of what they were. They have given themselves over to a demon and the demon nature controls."

"You believe in demons?"

"I believe there can be great evil."

"But a demon?"

Wolf paused, chuckling to himself, "Why?"

Lady Jaye stopped, "Why what?"

"These questions?" Wolf threw his arms up in the air in the universal signal of exasperation, "These caves, the glowing, the demis? You'll dance around but you won't ask will you?"

Lady Jaye glanced away and back, she felt like the cat with the telltale feather in its mouth. As much as she wanted to ask about his status, she couldn't. She started to walk forward once more. "I'm just curious about what's trans . . . wooeeeeee . . ." Her right boot had planted itself firmly on the ground but her foot continued twisting inward and she lost her balance, stumbling forward into the darkness. Suddenly she felt Wolf's strong grip under her arms, catching her before she crashed.

"I've got you." He eased her upright but the damage had been done. Bearing her weight down on her foot brought a world of hurt and she jumped up and down on her left foot muttering "Ouch" in a variety of angry tongues. Using the wall as a brace was no help. "Dang nang it! Superfudge!" was followed by a few more choice words in German. Somehow, cursing in German just felt right.

Wolf, shaking his head, stepped up and guided her down to a sitting position, stretching her leg out in front of her and taking her boot into his hands. Noticing her slight recoil, he held out a reassuring hand, "Please, allow me to look. I don't want to hurt you."

"I know, it's just, well, I feel stupid now."

Wolf untied the laces and gently worked the boot off, revealing a foot clad in a black silk stocking, not exactly what he expected. He cocked his head at an angle, puzzled, "You do not seem dressed for the occasion." He gestured to the rest of her outfit. "I may not know much about American military dress, but those pants are not standard issue I presume?"

"No." She looked away, hating the flood of emotions threatening to overtake her. Of all the times to lose it, her mind picked now, the time when she needed to hold it together more than anything. If this was all some test to see if a woman could withstand the rigors of military life, well, Beachhead was laughing all the way to the bank. If she had shown the world anything in the past hour, it was that she possessed none of the stuff that could remotely be deemed right.

Wolf softened his tone. Clearly he had hit some unintended mark. "I'm sorry, I did not mean. . ."

"No, it was nothing you said." She rubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands, pressing them a moment too long against her temples, willing her brain to stay intact. She shook it off and looked him square on, "You're right. I'm not dressed for this. I had no idea that last night would lead into this." She pointed down at her foot, "I usually wear different socks."

Wolf chuckled, "I would hope so. And pants?"

Lady Jaye laughed, "Who said anything about pants?" After the words left her mouth, she cringed internally and pictured herself as a cartoon, chasing after the words and pulling them back into her mouth. There were a lot of people with whom she could be forward, but Wolf? She feared she had just ruined whatever diplomatic relations they had managed to establish.

Wolf's eyes widened, but that hint of personality she had glimpsed again revealed itself for the moment, "Then why change that now?"

If she knew him well enough, she would have punched him. But she didn't, not nearly enough, and she let out a chuckle, relieved, and brought reality back, "I was at a party; we were having a party when you attacked. It was Christmas Eve, well, the Christian Christmas Eve, I mean what we celebrate in America." She paused for a moment, trying to find a way to be more direct, "Today's Christmas for me." That should do it.

Wolf winced at her words. "I am sorry. I would not personally do that. I did not think to question why they were in a hurry to engage."

"You have some honor then."

"I had some, yes."

"You had?"

"One does not make the choices I have made with one's honor in mind."

"Then why make them?"

"Because one puts one's honor aside for the greater good."

"But, ahhhh! Man that hurt!" Lady Jaye tried to pull her foot away.

"I'm sorry, I was checking to see if it was broken. It is sprained. I can wrap it so you can walk at least." Wolf pursed his lips, "But . . ."

"Run, I won't be good at that."

"No, not so good." Wolf yanked on his left sleeve, detaching it by the seams. Lady Jaye tried to stop him, but he waved her away. He quickly went to work, wrapping her foot and ankle so that the boot fit snuggly. He untied the laces and reworked them to give her greater support. He stood up. "Here, let us see how that works."

Jaye carefully pushed herself up the wall, gingerly placing weight back on her foot. It hurt, but it held. She smiled back at Wolf. "You did it."

Wolf couldn't explain, but part of him felt embarrassed by her praise. He knew now that he was in no small part responsible for her present location. Up until this point, the people he fought were nameless men, marching forward, replenishing themselves with another nameless face each time he took one down. He wasn't old-fashioned, but he never thought he would oppose someone such as this. Beautiful and spirited, yet broken and vulnerable, like a mortal woman convening with the gods. Her vulnerability killed at the gentleman he always thought he was. "No, I did nothing. It won't be anything until I get you out of here."

"I think we're getting each other out of here." Poor Wolf needed some coaching around Lady Jaye.

"No." He became stern, "It is upon my honor to get you out of here."

"I thought you said you didn't have any honor."

"I was wrong."

They faced each other, eyes challenging, set, and determined. Their breath was a synchronized staccato of in and out. Wolf folded his arms in front, standing defiantly. He was a man and he would do his duty. Lady Jaye followed suit and instantly regretted the decision. She wanted to jump up and down, screaming in pain, but she was no one to be saved. She was over being the blonde-haired wisp of a girlfriend running from the maniacal serial killer. She was Abraham Lincoln; she wielded the axe. Tears popped out at the corner of her eyes. She was starting to lose it.

"Enough!" Wolf threw his hands up in defeat. "You are stubborn! Fine, save yourself."

"Oh, thank god," Lady Jaye let out her breath and slumped against the wall.

"You would kill yourself to prove a point to me?"

Jaye grimaced but nodded her head. "I . . ."

Wolf waved her off, "No, no, say nothing. We help each other. But. . ."

"But?"

Wolf pointed down toward her foot, "Until that ankle is better, I think I help you more."


	21. And It's a Convection Oven!

A/N: The storms that hit DC last week did a number on our power, not to mention the neighborhood, so it was a hot summer in the city to say the least. But Dominion Virginia came through and we are back on the grid. It was peaceful the first night sleeping in complete darkness. By the morning, I'll admit, I was ready for the AC to be back even if it meant the return of the faint orange glow from the streetlight outside. Hope anyone who had to deal with the storm is doing ok and didn't get hit too hard. We lost a few trees/limbs and the fence is toast, but thankfully a tree fell left instead of right and missed the house by a foot. Phew!

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 21: And it's a convection oven**

They continued on in silence. There were so many questions she wanted to ask Wolf. What was he doing? Why was he with Cobra? How did he fit into the current coup with the Georgian government? What did he know about Cobra's involvement? But his squared shoulders ahead of her kept those thoughts at bay. He was blocking her out and she found she didn't like it. He would pause to help her navigate some difficult terrain, but on the whole, he marched on with a singular purpose, closed off to her.

As they hiked, Lady Jaye kept waiting for the tiredness to overcome her. She had no idea how much time had passed. It could be an hour, maybe a day. In the back of her head she knew that the longer they traveled, the less likely it was she would ever see Flint again. Flint, the name alone bit at her. In a way, she felt like he was already gone. It was a sense, an overwhelming sadness that she couldn't feel him anymore. Cover Girl used to joke around with her that she and Flint were so intertwined they were like one person. Cover Girl didn't know the half of it. Sometimes, when they were out in the field in the thick of things, Jaye didn't have to say a word. Flint could read her thoughts and she could read his moves. It was only logical that in working so close they had merely learned how the other would react. When someone points a gun at your head, there are only so many ways you can respond. After years of observation, she simply had learned how Flint would respond to that proverbial gun. But she always attributed it to something more. Even when he acted in an unexpected way, she knew to expect it. She missed that now with her current companion. She had no idea if they were marching to salvation or doom.

The path they were on started to become more formed. The rough-hewn rocks gave way to smooth dirt and gravel. The pathway suddenly was edged with smaller rocks, and the walls became smooth and rounded, like a boring machine had gone on before them turning the ragged rock walls into a proper tunnel. Her spidey senses went crazy. She was not alone. Wolf held up a hand, halting their progress. He pulled them to the side.

"I do not like this."

"We can't go back though."

Wolf shook his head, "No, we can't. I can't explain it. I feel that our destiny lies ahead of us, not behind."

Her dismay at having her fate be decided by his "feelings" must have been visible on her face.

"You do not trust me?" He appeared genuinely hurt at the prospect.

"It's not that." What it was exactly was something more. She felt discombobulated following a strange man in this strange place. She knew at this point that she could trust him; he had proven himself twice now. The problem was internal. She just didn't feel all that trusting on the inside. Around Flint, she sighed, _yes around Flint_, he would have stopped and held up his hand, she would have followed, end of story. _Get over it and buck up_ she chastised her inner monologue. _Flint's not here. He may never be. You need to get over that if you want to survive_. There was the question then, did she want to survive?

Yes.

To think any other way would be an insult to him. She would see this through and she would trust this strange man "fate" or whatever else you would call it crashed her into. Time to start this again, "I trust you Wolf. I don't know why, I do. I just wish I knew more about whatever it is we're facing. I feel, I just feel . . ." She trailed off, words failing her.

"You feel vulnerable relying upon me when you don't know me."

Lady Jaye nodded her head once.

"I understand. Whatever happened out there," he gestured above their heads, "happened. Whatever happens now, I will not do this alone." He failed to add that he would do everything within his power to get her out even if he could not be so fortunate. "When we have time, I have so many stories to tell you."

"Stories?"

"Yes, stories of my people. I think you will like them."

"I think I would." She smiled, softly, "Forward then?"

"Forward."

She wanted to shake his hand, hug him, something. Baby steps.

Baby steps couldn't prepare the pair for what they then faced. As they walked forward, the tunnel walls melted away and the darkness surrounding them expanded and diffused as the two emerged from the chiseled tunnel into a cavern without visible end. It was another world below the ground. Just up ahead, the path serpentined and turned into an ancient-looking grey stone bridge with imposing parapets standing sentry to the bridge's entrance. Underneath the bridge a perfect midnight blue river coursed toward the unknown, whirlpools breaking on the surface. Small groups of bush-like vegetation dotted the otherwise rocky landscape. Orange powder coated random rocks, giving off the glow of a midsummer's day. Such was the bucolic feeling of the place that Lady Jaye couldn't help but think that all it needed were the Von Trapp children skipping and singing. As Lady Jaye's eyes accustomed to the sensory onslaught, they stopped at the bridge. Reality ended there.

Cover Girl, in a moment of drunken confession, once told the story of what she called her coming to ghost moment. She claimed that everyone eventually had one. It was the moment you accepted that there were things for which no rational mind could create an explanation. For Cover Girl it had happened to her on a modeling trip. She and two other models were whisked away by private yacht to llhabela, an island off the coast of Brazil. Only accessible by ferry or chartered boat, it's a popular destination for the summer crowds—too popular for the magazine's creative director and photographer, who demanded utter desolation. He wanted the season's swimsuits to take center stage, not the preening crowds. (Clutch's never-ending quest to obtain those negatives was the source of many a Joe's prank). At the director's behest, the boat piloted out into the Atlantic's waters, the friendly coastline becoming all but a distant memory. As the waxen glow of the sun faded on the horizon, the director declared the shoot a success and retired to his quarters with the other two models, leaving Cover Girl alone on the deck with the moonlight filtering through the clouds. She shivered as the waves and wind rocked the boat. She expected to be cold, but not this bone-chattering chill.

A person she assumed to be the captain appeared holding out a bulky cotton sweater. "You feel the cold of the pirates you do."

"I'm sorry?" Cover Girl replied absentmindedly, thankful for the loan.

"The pirates of the deep, you feel them. We are above their resting place."

"Pirates?" This was starting to get a little weird.

"Here, come and have a seat and I'll tell you about the pirates of the deep." Cover Girl accepted his invitation and sat down next to him at the boat's stern, curling her legs up underneath her body for warmth. The captain went on to tell a fantastic tale of a fair maiden and the pirate she loved. The pirate was captain over a ragtag group known as The Deep, for it was said that they liked nothing better than to live free and ride the ocean's deep. Although the pirate most likely had some atonement to face in his later days, the young lady's love certainly sped up that process. Rather than be content with the pillaging and general debauchery of a pirate's life, the pirate captain turned his sights to assisting the un-assistable. Stranded sailors and others soon found hope rather than fear upon sight of The Deep's masthead. The young lady's village was hit by drought. The Deep brought food and water to the people.

The problem was, as all such stories eventually reveal, the pirate captain's former life. A dashing British Royal Navy officer hoping to make a name set his sights on capturing The Deep. To bring them in would certainly ensure a bright and prosperous future, and daresay, a visit with the queen. With knighthood on his mind, the young British officer began a year-long campaign calculated at discovering The Deep's Achilles' heel. He found it soon enough by stumbling upon a late-night rendezvous between the pirate captain and his maiden. The chance encounter hatched a rather dastardly plan in the officer's mind; get the girl and the pirates would be his. Get the girl he did. Although the villagers fought the Navy off with no small loss to some of their lives, they were no match. The officer scooped up the maiden and left word for the pirate captain.

He knew it was a trap. The villagers didn't have to tell him to stay away; they knew their pleas would fall on deaf ears. Instead, they did what they could to even the odds up a bit. On a cold night the pirate captain sailed out to meet his certain fate. In a small dinghy, the officer waited with the girl. The pirate captain and his first officer eased up to the small vessel, begging for the officer to let the girl go. Against the girl's pleas, the pirate captain offered his life in exchange for hers, a fair offer that the British officer had no intention of taking. Instead, in the passage of a moment, the young lady without care of her own future screamed, "Behind you!" At that point, the officer set off a flair high up into the night sky, revealing two Royal Navy warships floating into view. The pirate captain and his first mate knew they were no match. Having left their pirate crew behind, the two had sailed forth alone into this fool's mission. With a handshake and a salute, they both jumped into the tepid Atlantic as the Royal Navy opened fire, delivering a deadly blow to the pirates' ship.

Not to be left out of a good fight, the other Deep members and some hardy villagers commandeered whatever floating vessel they could find and set off on the trail of the pirate ship. The Royal Navy had to disengage lest they take out the numerous fishing boats suddenly dotting the water. Later, some British sailors would remark that they saw everything ranging from a bathtub to wine barrels employed that night. The fight was brought to the officer's dinghy as the pirate captain struggled to board. He and the officer engaged in hand-to-hand combat the likes never before seen. One spurred on by thoughts of fame, the other by love. Love indeed conquered all and the pirate captain delivered a sound blow, knocking the officer out cold. The pirate turned to embrace his love but she was gone. He could only surmise that she fell overboard during the fistfight. He screamed an unearthly rage, clenching his fists up to the night. He would not rest until he found her. Blinded by grief, he turned a deaf ear to reason and sailed the dinghy out into the black night in search of his love. The Deep were no more and no one ever saw the captain or his maiden again.

By the end of the story, Cover Girl was in tears. She would later explain that it wasn't so much the words but the telling. Her captain had such a plaintive tone that it seemed he was living the despair of the pirate.

"But," the captain continued, "passed down is this locket that the pirate gave his lady to keep close to her heart when he was away." The captain unbuttoned his collar, revealing a copper-colored chain. Taking it off his neck, he handed a brass filigreed locket to Cover Girl. "I want . . . I think you should have this."

"I couldn't," Cover Girl protested. It was too thoughtful of a gesture, besides the fact that there was no way it was the pirate's necklace. She smiled; it was a nice touch to his story. The captain thanked her for listening to his tale and, at the sound of her groggling stomach, promised to find her a bite to eat. She explained that she couldn't really eat during these kinds of photo shoots, to which the captain replied nonsense.

The next thing she remembered, one of the other models was shaking her awake, "Courtney (pronounced Coortneee"), you must wake. David (pronounced Dahveed) is ready to shoot. You look terrible."

After getting her bearings, Cover Girl asked where the captain was. The other woman laughed, "What captain Courtney?" Cover Girl explained that she had a nice chat with the captain last night. Even after describing the man in detail, the woman shook her head, "Courtney, there is no captain. This is David's boat. He hired some local to help, but there's no captain. You must have had some dream. There's no one like that on this boat."

The other model wandered off to get her make-up done, leaving a bewildered Cover Girl behind. Considering the aches her body felt from the awkward sleeping arrangement, Cover Girl was ready to chalk it up to a vivid dream, until she stood up and saw the locket on the bench. Picking it up, she almost expected it to dissolve in the daylight. It, however, was very solid and with a push of a button, snapped open, revealing two portraits, a man and a woman, facing each other. So fine were the brushstrokes that Cover Girl had a hard time convincing herself that they weren't photos and part of some elaborate hoax by her fellow models to give her a scare. There was an age and fragility to the pictures she couldn't deny. But the portraits' subjects caused her to hold her breath. The man was her captain. From his furrowed brow to the wiry salt and pepper beard to the nose slightly askew, there he was staring back at her over the years. As much as the captain's picture caused her hand to shake, the woman's picture made her sit down in shock. It was her. A darker, more buxom her, but it was her. It made no sense. It defied reason, but she couldn't, wouldn't, deny that the night had happened. She knew she spoke to the captain as if he was flesh and bone. Here was the proof. At that moment, she knew some things were so fantastical that they had to be true. Her ghost had come to her.

And now, as Lady Jaye starred at the hulking, misshapen, goat man sleeping in front of the bridge, she knew how Cover Girl felt that morning. Even after everything that had happened thus far, she was certain there had to be a rational explanation. She was dreaming or maybe she had hit her head in the jeep crash and was hallucinating. Soldiers talked about it all the time. But now, now all she could do was accept that something bigger than anything her mind could conjure up was taking place. There was no rational explanation. Snoring but a few feet in front of her was a mythological creature that existed surely as much as she did.

Without thought, Lady Jaye reached over for Wolf's hand. It was an impulsive reaction, a need for grounding. He returned her grip, unexpected, but not unwelcomed. She felt startled for a moment when the hand grasping hers was not the familiar callused and solid feel of Flint. This hand was longer, leaner, but it felt right. She allowed her mind to relax, to let her breath flow in and out. She looked over at Wolf, the question apparent in her eyes.

"It is Ocho-Kochi, a goat man in Mingrelian mythology." Wolf whispered.

"Let me guess. . ."

"Yes, he made appearances in my father's stories. He is a satyr, a wild man of the woods. My father spoke of him as an old man with a long beard, his body covered with hair. Not this."

No, the Ocho-Kochi before them was no old man in Lady Jaye's mind. While covered in patchy gray hair, thinning in spots, balding in others, the creature had the bulk of a pro-wrestler, with goat horns, sharp and jagged, protruding from the sides of its head. Its legs were haunches, thick and muscular, ending in angry hooves. It had the hands of a man, but they were by far the largest, thickest hands Lady Jaye had ever seen. They made Gung-ho's look like little Ken doll hands. Fortunately, the pair had one factor on their side, the creature appeared to be lost in sleep and oblivious to the world. The faint rumbling she had assumed was the rush of the stream was more likely the reverberating snores of the creature. It wasn't without some jealousy that Lady Jaye observed the creature. After everything she'd been through, she had half a mind to curl up next to the Ocho-Kochi and nestle in for the night. If anything, the goat man had to radiate as much, if not more, heat than Flint did in a night. Maybe his fur was fluffy to boot? She shook her head, such thoughts were not going to get them out alive. She glanced around for an alternative exit. It was the path ahead or the river. It looked like the river was the winner.

She and Wolf tiptoed off the path and ever so carefully made their way down to the embankment just off to their left. Although rocky, it was not impossible to find steady footing. Wolf turned toward her and with a shrug of his shoulders, made a move to jump in feet first. Lady Jaye yanked him back, much to his surprise and he eked out a small yelp of exasperation in response. They both froze in place, waiting for the Ocho-Kochi to awake. Nothing. Lady Jaye allowed herself to breathe again.

"We need to make sure it's safe to go in."

Wolf seemed flummoxed, "What do you think I was doing?"

"Not like that. We need a proxy." She glanced around the embankment where they stood for something to throw in. As she spotted a rather weighty-looking branch, she thanked her lucky stars and felt a sense of satisfaction that the Alaskan survival course was finally paying off. She tried to pick it up but ended dragging it to Wolf. "Here, we'll throw this in and see how the currents are."

Wolf shrugged, grabbing the other end. The pair tossed the branch into the water, Wolf expecting it to drift along with the visible current. What he didn't expect was that the branch would become pulverized and chopped to bits by undercurrents, and then those pieces, pushed to the middle of the river, became lodged and stuck out at various angles in the rocks hidden under the surface. The darkness of the water wasn't because it was reflecting the cave and was a pristine flowing pool; it was a raging rock-strewn dark tempest waiting to swallow them alive.

Gulping for air, Wolf, visibly shaken, turned to Lady Jaye and pointed back to the path. Nodding in resignation, Lady Jaye turned to start back up the embankment.


	22. A River Flows Where the River Has Been

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 22: A River Flows Where the River Has Always Been**

Back on the road, neither one was eager to cross paths with the Ocho-Kochi. The concept seemed simple enough; it was just the execution that eluded them—sneak around the creature without disturbing its slumber. _Right_, Lady Jaye thought, _and we'll get 200 dollars for passing go_. Wolf looked at her, his brows questioning. She hadn't realized that she mumbled that last bit aloud. "Sorry," she mouthed.

Turning to the task at hand, the plan was drawn. Lady Jaye would carefully tiptoe around the beast with Wolf following at her heels. That way, should her ankle give her any trouble, Wolf would be there to grab her and run. She had argued against his rationale. If her ankle was a threat, he should go first and at least one would be free. Wolf would hear nothing of it, going so far as to hold a hand up in front of her face every time she attempted to raise the issue. No, Wolf knew if he had to, he would carry her through the entire mountain until he could insure her safety. He wished there was a way to hide her so that he could continue on and get help. Surveying the scene, he reluctantly agreed that there was no where she would be invisible. If the demis came, and they would come, of that he had no doubt, she would be vulnerable. Better to be vulnerable on the move than trapped in this place.

With a final look between them, Lady Jaye inched forward, praying that her ankle would hold. With a hesitant foot forward, she cringed slightly as the pain shot up her leg. It was a manageable pain and she maintained her footing. The ground before her was pounded and smooth, cushioning her steps and, hopefully, muffling any sound. From the looks of things, it was going to take a lot to wake the Ocho-Kochi. She held her breath walking around him, her body frozen stiff as heel hit the ground and slowly rolled to her toes. She held her breath first in nervousness and then in disgust. The Ocho-Kochi stank like Beachhead's discarded socks. It was a mixture of human sweat and animal waste that repulsed her olfactory nerves. It was torture having to move this slow around the goat man. Her eyes began to water and she felt the bile rise in her throat. _You can do this, you can do this_. Burying her mouth and nose in her sleeve, she relaxed ever so slightly after passing the creature's legs. She was in the home stretch now.

Wolf followed closely behind her and was hit by the wave of stench wafting off the Ocho-Kochi. This was something for which his father had never prepared him. Surely the Ocho-Kochi's distinct odor had to have earned it some reputation beyond these caves? He had no doubt some Georgian before him had experienced the caves and lived to tell the tale. There was no other explanation for the stories of his youth. While much of the narrative was changed through the passage of time—the Ocho-Kochi became as harmless as an elder, the demis became susceptible to the human will—the heart of the experience was there in the folklore. But even accepting all of that, Wolf was unprepared for the grittier aspect of the tales. It was one thing to think of the Ocho-Kochi in the abstract as a goat man. One pictured an aged satyr of Greek mythos, cavorting in a field while fair women laughed along. It was another thing to stumble upon an actual in the flesh goat man. An actual goat man was dirty, smelly, and infested with all sorts of vermin. As the Ocho-Kochi was in repose, Wolf could discern minute black specks hopping from place to place. Wolf shuddered internally, keeping his steady pace.

He glanced up and was relieved as Lady Jaye cleared the Ocho-Kochi hurdle. One more leg and he would do the same. He paused a moment, taking a quick gulp of air. It was the wrong move. Suddenly, the Ocho-Kochi's smell was not the only assault upon his senses.

When Wolf was about five years old, he and his mother had walked the short distance home from his school. Somewhere along the path he stumbled across a lost puppy. It was a ramshackle thing, all ears and paws with no torso of which to speak. A motley brown color, it wagged its tail with what had to be a painful speed as young Wolf approached. _"Can we keep him?"_ he pleaded with his mother, his eyes big and begging saucers. She gave in to his request, as she was apt to do, with the careful admonishment that, should the true owner be found, they would have to give him back. Her warning fell on deaf ears as Wolf happily ambled alongside his new friend. Unfortunately, Wolf turned out to be allergic to his new friend, Geria, named after one of his favorite folktale heroes. It was with a sad heart that his mom began an earnest search to find the puppy's owner lest her son walk around with a perpetual runny nose and sniffles, driving her mad.

The fond memories he had of running after Geria in the fields around his house was matched in only slightly less detail by the runny nose and itchy eyes that he encountered on his romps. The doctor told his mother that there was something in Geria's fur his body rebelled against. And now, cheek to jowl with the Ocho-Kochi, Wolf shuddered as that feeling returned. Pinching his nose, Wolf prayed for the feeling to pass. But once the tickle started in the back of his throat, no amount of pinching and holding would suffice. In an instant, he gave them away by a paroxysm of sneezes.

The Ocho-Kochi growled with a start, leaping to its feet with a grace belied by the awkwardness of its body. The goat man swung its arms out in a raging arc, firmly connecting with Wolf, sending him flying into the opposite parapet.

"Run!" Wolf screamed at Lady Jaye, blood running down his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

Lady Jaye went on autopilot as her preservation instincts took charge and propelled one foot in front of the other. She cringed as the massive roar of the Ocho-Kochi rocked the bridge. She tripped, skidding hands first into the dirt. Rolling up back to her feet, she took off again until she was about to clear the bridge. Then it hit her and she willed her body into a hard stop, every bone jostling forward, carrying her along a few feet more. _What am I doing?_ She felt embarrassed and ashamed remembering the Joe creed. How often had she lectured Flint, _when we throw in with people, we don't leave them behind_. She threw her lot in with Wolf; she would not leave him behind.

Lady Jaye pivoted on her right foot, sending little angry jabs up her leg and into her hip. "Arrrrrr . . . ." She limped and hopped forward, trying to get her bearings. Up ahead, she watched in horrific fascination as the Ocho-Kochi continued its assault on Wolf. The goat man bent down and grasped Wolf by the back of his neck like a mother cat carrying its young. Wolf dangled in the air, his right shoulder cocked at an unnatural angle, no doubt shattered by the impact with the bridge. Wolf squirmed under the glare of the Ocho-Kochi, sneezing all the while. The Ocho-Kochi swung Wolf back and forth a few times, before tossing him against the side of the bridge. Wolf yelled in agony, legs failing beneath him.

She knew it was a death sentence but she didn't care. If Wolf went down, she would go down with him. There could be no her without him. With a primordial yelp, Lady Jaye rushed the Ocho-Kochi, not really sure of what use she would be once she reached it. The Ocho-Kochi was in the process of batting Wolf when Lady Jaye threw herself in the path of the creature's fist. She saw stars and constellations as her eyes swarmed with a dark red. Staggering, she stumbled into the dirt, head on fire. From behind her she could hear Wolf moan, "Run Jaye, get away!" Spitting out rocks, she lifted herself up on her forearms as the creature picked up a flailing Wolf once more and sunk his teeth into Wolf's shoulder. The screams turned silent; Wolf's voice was no more.

"Noooo!" Lady Jaye knew they were bested. She was dizzy and nauseated, certainly no match for the Ocho-Kochi. Here was where the world ended. It would neither be with a bang nor a whimper but rather a long slow drain of her life. There was no hope. At least she wasn't alone.

Then she knew it was happening again; it was the voices. Her despair was a mere annoyance at first then she recognized the signs for what they were—the demis were coming. The thoughts began to rise into a cacophony of desolation and doom. She lowered her head to the ground. Closing her eyes, she attempted release.

In her mind's eye she pictured a future that would never be. She saw herself swinging on the porch of her Vineyard home, the happy squeals of children filling the air. Behind her, the smell of pancakes and bacon sizzling and next to her, Flint. Although it was her family house, she always pictured Flint's family there with all his nieces and nephews destroying the environs with whatever game they concocted and his mom cooking away in the kitchen. To her, that was home. No more.

Opening her eyes, the spark that made her Lady Jaye refused to burn out. Each whisper of defeat from the demis stoked the fire of her stubbornness. If she wouldn't give in to Wolf, she wouldn't give in to these guys. The demis would not deny her future. She would swing in that swing. She fought back. She wouldn't give up.

She thought this was what it was like to have an out-of-body experience. Watching from a distance, she saw herself push up from the ground and rise on shaky feet. Turning to the Ocho-Kochi, there was only one choice left and she made it. Screaming, she rushed at the creature, but it wasn't her intended target. Instead, she focused on Wolf. In the blink of an eye, she wrapped her arms around Wolf and yanked him away from the goat man, ignoring the tearing sounds from the Ocho-Kochi's throat. The moment of surprise was hers and the creature let go of its prey. From there momentum propelled the two forward and over the bridge's side, free-falling into the dark water below.

Wolf and Lady Jaye crashed, submerging into the water's depth. Lady Jaye felt her body go numb as the freezing water shocked her system. Pins and needles pricked at her body, drawing out her breath in a large gasp as she broke the surface. The force of the current tossed them about and she struggled to maintain her grip on Wolf. Several times she fought to keep her head above the water as she was pulled underneath. Coming from the Vineyard, she knew what to do with a rip tide. One never fought against the current, it was folly. It would beat you long before you would ever master it. Instead, you swam parallel to the shore, riding the tide out. Here, she had no idea where the shore was or what was even up or down. She had no hope of riding anything out. All she could do was keep her head above water.

Wolf was no help. The moment she lessened her grip, he would drift down toward the bottom. There was no fight in him anymore. Lady Jaye even wondered if he was already dead. Even if he was, she would try her hardest to get him out of here. He didn't deserve to be left behind alone. But first, she needed to survive this and her strength was giving out fast. Already her muscles were tensing and shivering, decreasing her ability to keep them both afloat. In her Alaska course, on the first day of class, the instructor told his eager protégées that, in cold water without any protection, they could have as little as 30 minutes to survive. The river's water was no Lake Schrader, site of the Alaska class, but given her state and Wolf's, it might as well be. She tried to huddle against Wolf to conserve body heat but the river's forces were too much. They continued to be dashed about and she couldn't maintain her grip on Wolf. As he was violently pulled away from her, she kicked against the current, trying to grab a hold of any part of him. _Come on Wolf, hang on just a . . . _. Her last thought was cut short as her head cracked back against a jagged rock poking just above the surface.


	23. Tread Softly on My Dreams

A/N: This chapter started a bit differently but hoped everyone would forgive a small frolic and detour for Flint fans.

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 23: Tread Softly on My Dreams**

Lady Jaye found herself back near the base, relaxing on a quilted blanket by "their spot." It was nighttime and the Milky Way was a glittery band cutting a swath across the sky, as Flint would say. He liked those farming terms. "Their spot" was a soft patch of sand snuggled between dunes a mile or so from base. Whenever she or Flint needed to get away from it all, they found their way here. It was a secluded spot, but not so secluded that the other team members couldn't get to them in an emergency. It gave the feeling of privacy, sorely needed when one lived among the same people day in and day out. Hawk understood Flint's need to unwind with some poetry and not get razzed for his choice. Thus Flint, ever resourceful, found the one location safe from prying eyes, scorching sun, and too many creepy-crawlies.

She was first introduced to "Flint's spot," as it was then called, on their first real date after Scarlett and Snake Eyes's return and her subsequent right hook into Flint's chin. He had driven her out in a jeep over the desert after arriving at her door with a bouquet of daises, her favorite flower. Somehow Flint knew it wasn't roses that would make her heart flutter. It was the simple bright daisy that spoke to her of beauty and happiness. After Flint closed the passenger-side door, Lady Jaye tried not to have any high expectations. Originally hoping to make it into town, Cobra was a buzz and Hawk requested that they stay close, but not too close.

Parking at the base of a dune, Flint came around to her side, scolding her for jumping the gun and getting out of the vehicle. Glancing down at her shoe choice, Flint smiled, "Please allow me," and scooped her up into his arms, making the trek upward. Lady Jaye went to protest but allowed herself to give in. She didn't have to be Lady Jaye around him; she could just be. As they crested the hill, she wondered why she had ever allowed herself to doubt. Flint could pull out the stops when necessary. He deemed his chance at wooing Jaye to be such an occasion. Nestled between the rising hills of sand were a table and two chairs parked on a rug. A spare conference room fold-up table by day, it now sported the requisite white table cloth, vase with a single daisy, and two tea candles. She overlooked the fact that the chairs were the accompanying fold-up metal conference room fixtures. Thinking of comfort, Flint managed to snag a few of Scarlett's throw pillows and repurposed them as seat cushions. Next to the table was a dumbwaiter covered by a standard issue Army sheet. Flint winked at Jaye and she beamed back. He gently lowered her to the rug, pulling out her chair, "Milady."

"Why thank you sir."

With a short bow, Flint pulled back the sheet, revealing several covered dishes. Taking two salad plates from the stack, Flint set one down in front of Jaye and one in front of his seat. Reaching under the cart, Flint held out a bottle of wine, "A glass madam?"

"Off-duty I take it?"

"But of course." The wine soon flowed and Flint explained that he had requisitioned Roadblock in his dinner endeavor. Soon the salad was followed by an appetizer, and then the main course, an expertly cooked filet. As the wine went, so did the conversation, punctuated by bits and pieces of forward flirtation and shy retreats. Lady Jaye felt as if her whole body was on edge, a good edge. She felt she was on the precipice of something bigger and greater than herself. Did she dare allow herself to fall? Was she really falling in love?

Flint cleared the dishes and brought out dessert, crème brule. "A little bird told me this was your favorite and you once spent a winter searching for Boston's best."

_Cover Girl_. Although Flint smiled, she inwardly cringed. It was the actions of a privileged teenager, lashing out, being spoiled. It wasn't so much the search for the perfect dessert; it was everything else that was tied up in that winter. She had been rude to many a person who didn't deserve it and the memories were shameful. If Cover Girl told Flint even half of what she had done, she hated to think of how Flint viewed her now.

Her changed disposition didn't go unnoticed and Flint reached out to grasp her hand, "Babe, I don't care."

"I was a spoiled brat then." She looked away.

"Hey, eyes here." Once he had her focus, he continued, "No one's perfect. You're allowed. You know I don't care." He gave a reassuring squeeze, "You think Butler's and my cow-tipping was the height of maturity?" Laughing, "We all have moments where we are less than we'd like to be. I like you for you, all of you. However you were then, who you are now, and who you'll be. I lov. . ." His words ended abruptly as he pushed an invisible beret from his brow, his nervous tic. In his mind the word _stupid_ went on repeat. Rather than be suave and debonair, he just blew it by being too forward, too eager. He knew she cared about him; he just didn't know if she was ready for that. Relaxing his grip, he couldn't hide the grimace.

Lady Jaye pulled it back, "Hey, eyes here." She paused, thinking through her next words. If he was going to say what she thought, it certainly wasn't unwanted. She knew his past and the difficulties he had. If a word was going to trip him up, she didn't want it. "You don't need to say anything now. I don't expect it. I'm not going to say I don't want it, I do. But I'm ok with what we have. Time is precious enough without worrying about what to say. Please don't worry. It's alright."

A look passed between the two and their lives were forever changed. It was one thing to dance around the subject, to pass your hand occasionally through the flame, but it was something entirely different to finally let go and bare your soul. Flint knew that once said, he could never, would never, take it back. He flipped through his mental rolodex of quotes. Shelly, Browning, none seemed right. It wasn't their words he wanted, it was his own. It was the three words only he could say. Flint leaned across the table, "I love you," as he cupped her chin, gently kissing her lips. He pulled back, flashing his lopsided grin. "'Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths . . . I would spread the cloths under your feet. But I, being poor,'" he held his hands up in mock resignation, he could only resist the perfect verse for so long, "'have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'"

Looking down at the deflated dessert, Lady Jaye raised her brows in suggestion, "I don't think I could eat another bite."

Flint went back in for another kiss, "Neither can I." And dessert was all but forgotten.

Sometime later, starring up at the stars as Flint pointed out the various constellations, Lady Jaye couldn't help but to sneak a glance over at her companion. Bare-chested because he insisted on wrapping her up in the extra blanket, he seemed impervious to the cold. He could be so sure and stubborn to the point of frustration, but that was the point; so could she. He said it though, he loved her. They had flirted with the words so many times that she never dared to push the topic. She wasn't lying when she said she was fine with him not saying it. She could survive without. It was just sweeter to survive with it.

Flint returned her gaze, "Ali, are you ok?"

"More than ok. Why?"

"You're just quiet."

"Not quiet, content." She stretched out, "Make that very content."

Flint smiled, "I'm glad." He reached out across the space between them and traced the outline of her face.

"I love you."

"I love you too babe." He began to trace his hand down lower, "I still couldn't eat another bite."

"Ha," she held his hand, "In a little while. I want to remember this." She looked back up to the sky, "I wish we could stay here forever. I do. Or at least I wish I could always come back to this."

Flint held his hand to her cheek, "You did."

"Hmmm?" She turned her head in his direction.

Flint's eyes grew serious, "But you can't stay. They will come and you need to move."

Lady Jaye wanted to turn to him but her body suddenly felt weighed down and heavy. "What do you mean?" She struggled against the pressure, unable to sit up.

"Babe, they will come. Go."

Shaking her head, his words made no sense but continued to echo in her head. Go? Go where?

She came to with a start, her heart beating in her chest, dizzy and confused. Her eyes opened to a hazy, dark and sparkling world above. It was the nighttime Utah sky. She assumed she was lying on her back, but she couldn't be sure. None of her muscles responded to her silent roll call. Wait, there were her toes, wiggling against the stiff, wet leather of her boots. Next were her fingers, digging into some soft, pillowy substance. Maybe she was at their spot and had only dreamt of Flint's presence. Her mind was a whirl of emotions and thought. Something just wouldn't compute.

With a mild protest from her neck muscles, she turned her head to the side and was met with what looked like a flat expanse of pure white sand. It couldn't be Utah. Turning her head the other way, she took in the faint shimmer of an expansive lake. She assumed it was a lake even though there was no visible shoreline. The sand and the water meshed together in a blur. The effort tired her and she allowed her head to flop against the earth, mesmerized by the twinkling above.

She tried to remember where she was, but the weight pressing against her chest prevented any focused thoughts. She needed to escape whatever was holding her down. An arm reluctantly answered her command and rose up into the darkness, pushing against invisible air. There was nothing there. Then it hit her, Cover Girl's jacket. She swallowed down the emotions trying to percolate to the top. There would be time to mourn whatever life she had left behind. Now it was survival mode. Easing up into a sitting position, she wiggled out of the jacket. With the cold, wet parka cast aside, she inhaled deeply and took stock of her situation. She remembered banging her head and instinctively rubbed the back of her head. A lump had formed but not nearly what she would have expected. No, she should be dead.

Shaking it off, she attempted to make heads or tails of her whereabouts. A dim light diffused the scenery and all she could see was the powdery sand of the beach, which upon closer inspection wasn't the grainy powder of sand but was composed of soft, spongy, miniscule, white rocks. Above her, what looked like the nighttime sky was a large sloping cavern wall, spreading out in all directions. Instead of the orange glowing powder, it was coated in spots with a white glowing substance. Imbedded into the walls were various colored, translucent jewel-like stones. Some appeared to her naked eyes to be raw diamonds. She shook her head; in other circumstances she could make a mint down here, wherever here was. The beach reminded her of a secluded Caribbean hideaway. It stretched on for endless miles, gently meeting at the water's edge. It wasn't so long ago that she and Flint had frolicked in a landscape not too unlike this.

Flint.

Gone.

Then she remembered, "Wolf!" she screamed out loud. "Wolf, Wolf!"

She stopped, listening for a reply of any kind.

Silence.


	24. I am my Father's Son

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 24: I am my Father's Son**

Flint's words haunted Lady Jaye and she didn't have to venture a guess as to who "they" were. The adventures of the past, she paused in her thoughts realizing she had no idea how much time had passed. From the crash to her location now, the distance alone had to be a trek of hours if not a day. But she wasn't hungry. She wasn't thirsty. She wasn't tired in the way she would expect. Her mind was exhausted, her body ached, yet she didn't long to lie down and just sleep. If anything, she should need sleep. The physical exertion without any water or sustenance should have caused her to end up a fried heap in a corner. Still she persisted.

_You persist because you are a Hart and Hart's do not cower_. Another lesson from Grandmother Hart rang in her ears.

"What about the Burnetts grandmother? Don't they just roll over and die?"

_Your father's lineage is irrelevant now as it has always been._

"But is it grandmother? Is it really so irrelevant? Who am I?"

There was no sharp retort, just the echoing of her beating heart.

Lady Jaye fell back on her heels, control lost, "Who am I!"

She slumped to the ground. _Now I've really lost it, a conversation with a dead person. Great_. She pushed the thoughts aside. _Time to move_. She didn't care of it was a figment dreamt up by her subconscious. If Flint, in whatever form, said move, she would move.

She pushed up to her knees and then to standing. The pain in her ankle sent her sprawling back down to the ground. She fought back against the hurt knowing that tears would only make it worse. Once the waterworks started, she knew she'd be in for a mighty fine headache. She couldn't afford that now. Therefore, if she couldn't walk, she'd crawl. Glancing around, she scanned her surroundings for some type of sign that pointed to the way out. Squeezing her eyes together, a dark shape by the water's edge drew her attention.

"Wolf!"

Propelling forward, she crawled on hands and knees to where Wolf lay. He was half in and half out of the water, his nose barely peeking above the surface. She shuddered, afraid of what was hidden beneath. The part of his face she could make out wasn't pretty. The Ocho-Kochi had not been kind.

"Wolf, Wolf," she shook him, whispering a silent prayer he was still alive.

A moaning sound escaped from his lips, followed by some unintelligible mutterings.

"Wolf, wake up. Come on, we have to go." She became determined, shaking him violently.

His hand rose up from the sand to bat her away, "Mwwrr, run, run, Jjjjjaaa, ruunnnnnn. . . ."

She released him, took a deep breath, and set her jaw. With a sharp exhale, she fixed her resolve and slapped him hard. It worked.

"Mrr- ahhhh!" Wolf rolled over with a start, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch his already raw cheek. Blinking a few times, his vision cleared, "Lady Jaye, is that you?"

"Wolf?" There was awe in her voice.

"Am I in heaven? Is this heaven?"

"Wolf," she pointed to the part of his face that had been submerged in water, "your face," her words were hesitant, "it's, it's fine."

Wolf patted around his nose and continued around his left cheek and eye. Nothing. There was no pain and the skin felt textured and rough, as it always did when he went too long between shaves. Feeling around, he flinched upon touching his right side. It felt hot and tender. Left side again, nothing. He was well aware of what the Ocho-Kochi had done to him. Despite desperately wishing to blackout during the worst of it, his mind was ever aware of every blow and bite. He had simply made up his mind to accept his fate and only hoped that Lady Jaye was able to flee while he held the Ocho-Kochi's attention. But here she was before him, and now this.

He scrambled to his knees and peered at his reflection in the water. There was a perfect demarcation down his face between the healed and the scarred. Even his body, that too ached on the right but felt revived on the left. He shook his head, blinking several times, looking down, the image remained.

Lady Jaye just stared. The left side of his flight suit was shredded and stained with his blood. The skin peeking out from between the torn fabric was the color of a newborn's, pinkish and robust. Wolf followed her gaze and poked his hands through the holes. Pressing down on his shoulder, it was intact. He flexed and rotated his arm. No matter what he did, it was fine. He dug deep into his memory in an attempt to recall anything he may have heard about this. Then it came to him, "Sanartia." He looked at Jaye, "Your ankle? How is your ankle?"

"What?" She was still in shock at his appearance and couldn't fathom what her ankle had to do with anything.

Wolf was insistent though, "Your ankle, quick, your ankle?"

Shaking her head, "Not good. I can't walk on it."

"Here, quickly," he invaded her personal space, "give it to me."

"Wolf, what are you doing. . . ."

Wolf was too absorbed in his mission. "Your boot, it's wet." It seemed like a surprise to him.

"Well, yeah, we jumped into a river."

"Then why didn't it work?"

"Why didn't what work?"

"The water!" he exclaimed, "It should work." He scratched the side of his head. It had to be the boot. Somehow her boot was preventing the water from doing its work. With that in mind, he started to untie the laces.

Lady Jaye tried to withdraw her foot, "Hey, what?"

Wolf looked up, "Please, trust me."

Trusting Wolf wasn't the problem; it was all the emotions that went along with her trust. Lady Jaye's mind was torn and frayed. This was a level of intimacy she generally only had with one other. The accompanying guilt was eating her inside. It couldn't be a betrayal to trust this man, yet that is exactly what she felt. By throwing in her lot with Wolf, how could she not betray Flint.

Wolf made no move and waited for her to work out her demons.

Lady Jaye allowed her thoughts to spin to their inevitable conclusion. She couldn't betray what wasn't there. As much as she wanted to make things right between them, she never had the chance. Instead, Flint was no doubt dead and she was trapped in the mountains. She had to get out. She looked up at Wolf; she wasn't going to do it alone. There could be no guilt for relying on another when she couldn't do it herself. She nodded and Wolf undid the laces and removed her boot.

Taking her foot, he lowered it into the water, casting a quizzical eye her way. She stared back at him, unsure of what he expected. She was about to shake her head when she felt it. It was a trace warmth ebbing deep in her bones, spreading out to engulf her whole foot. Whatever was beneath the surface tingled and pulsated and the ache subsided, replaced by a soothing heat. It was not uncomfortable and she felt a tug to jump in the water and dive deep until the ache in her mind was soothed as well. Closing her eyes, she held up her hand, stopping Wolf's questioning before it could start. She needed to feel this to believe.

After a moment, the feelings faded and she was left with a slightly cold foot. "I think it's done."

Wolf nodded, "Can you walk?"

She stood up and tested it out, bearing all her weight on her ankle. No pain and it held. She hopped a few times to make sure. Nothing. Her ankle felt as good as new, if not better. She sat back down next to Wolf, and followed his gaze out to the water. She sensed the turmoil in her companion. He was seeing something out there she couldn't fathom. She waited and kept quiet, sensing that he would fill in the void when he was ready.

Wolf, his voice distant and struggling, began, "There was a king who had a son, Sanartia. Sanartia was extremely clever and good. He understood all, but was a bit headstrong. He escaped having his father try to kill him on his mother's orders. Afterward, he befriended another prince. He stood in his friend's place and performed feats that allowed his friend to marry a fair princess. The princess found out that it was not her husband but Sanartia who had performed the tasks. She was none too pleased and cut off Sanartia's leg at the knee while he slept. Sanartia then went off and became friends with a one-handed man. A demi threatened that man. Even with one leg, Sanartia overpowered the demi, who promised to take him to a river that would heal his wound. The first river the demi showed did not restore his leg. Sanartia threatened to kill the demi, but the demi begged for its life, saying there was still another stream. The demi took Sanartia to the other stream and as soon as Sanartia put in his leg, it was made whole and sound like the other leg. After this, he did not kill the demi, but let him go free; he made the demi heal his one-handed friend, whom he then wed to a female friend." Wolf gave a half-hearted laugh, still starring out into the vast lake.

He turned to Jaye, "And here it is, Sanartia's river." Wolf shook his head again, returning his focus to some distant point beyond. "I know these stories because they were the stories of my father. It was the one thing he would share with me. And I tell you these stories now because we are stuck in the middle and I don't know how it will end. I'm, I'm sorry."

Wolf hung his head between his legs, elbows resting on knees, forehead pressed to clenched fists. He continued, talking to her, talking to the ground, mostly talking to himself. "We have a saying, 'Who slew me?-My brother. Who brought me back to life?-My brother.' For me, replace brother with father and you will know my life." Wolf glanced at Lady Jaye, his swollen eye glassy in the half-light, "Do you know your father?"

Thoughts of her father brought pain and comfort, "I did."

"Was he a good man?"

"He was."

"My father was a good man. He was a hero who fought for the people. He was everything to me. With a word he could lift my spirits as much as he could crush them. Every time he left, I would cry, my mother unable to console me. When my mom died, no one was left who seemed to care. The only time I truly had his attention was when he told his stories and I was on his turf. So, I learned to be on his turf but it was no place for a boy.

"My father fought for the freedom of Georgia from the Soviets. He was imprisoned, tortured. He escaped for a time, only to be brought back in, finally fleeing the country for good. Even as he pushed me away, I admired him. I wanted to be like him.

"One of his favorite subjects was the folk tales of our country. He believed that a country with no heritage could not be." Wolf paused, changing tempo, "Did you know the major collection and translations of our stories were done by an English lady?"

Lady Jaye remained mute; she wasn't sure if Wolf was being rhetorical.

Wolf shook his head, "It is true. My father believed it to be a travesty. I agreed and set about collecting our oral history; I thought it would make him proud. But something happened to him while he was away. He came back, but he was changed. His intentions were dark and twisted. It all became a game to him; he was the chess master and we all were his pawns. The ends would justify the means no matter what." Wolf placed his chin atop his hands, thoughtful, pensive, and defeated. "I followed him down into that rabbit's hole and I never thought why."

Lady Jaye placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him but grounding her. Hearing Wolf's words took her away to another time, another place. She had heard a version of this speech before. The actors were different, but the cause was the same. She had never put two and two together until now. How like the other Wolf was. Even Wolf's appearance, push him down an inch or two, round out his face, lengthen the hair, the eyes remained the same and it would be the other. She knew where this tale would end.

"It is because I believed he would bring me back to life. He slew me and having been dead, there was no one but my father who could bring me back. I could be no one but my father." Wolf sighed, "I am not my father. These things I cannot do."

Wolf straightened his spine a bit and his weariness was subsumed by a sort of confidence. "But every story has an end, and we will find the end to this one. We will survive and I will change it." He reached up and placed a hand on Lady Jaye's, "We will get out, this I promise you."

"I know. But Wolf, what did you do?"

Wolf removed his hand from hers, reached across his chest and ripped something off his uniform. Casting it at her feet, she saw it was the Cobra insignia that had first caught her eye. Battered, the head of the snake remained untouched, its eyes dark and foreboding. "This, this is what I did."

"And your father?"

"Everything else. He has done everything else."

Lady Jaye felt a slow, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and the bile rose to her mouth. Choking it back, she dared to ask, "Who is your father?"

"He is the one that will slay us all." Wolf stood up, offering a hand to her, "Come, we must move."

Lady Jaye grabbed his hand and allowed him to hoist her up to her feet. She reached out and touched his scarred cheek, "We have time. Do you want to use the water?" Tracing the scratches, she could see up close that the damage wasn't nearly as bad as it should be and that the water had some effect even though this side of his face didn't soak in it.

Wolf shook his head, "No, let this be a reminder that this place exists. This is something I should bear."

"But Wolf . . ."

"No. It's fine." He shrugged away her hand, "I need this."

She felt slightly upset by his rebuff but there wasn't time to dwell. Flint's words were in the back of her head. No, there was only time to move, "Where to?"

"Away from the water. See there," Wolf pointed straight up, "if you follow the ceiling down, it slopes on all sides and seems to concentrate down that way," Wolf traced a line down the ceiling, "toward a point over there."

"And maybe the entrance to another cave."

"Exactly."

The pair trudged forward toward the middle of the sloping wall. Their feet sunk into the sand with each step they took so that their forward progress was anything but fast and sure. Wolf took the lead, with Lady Jaye a few paces behind him. He was glad to be ahead and away from her. When she had touched his cheek, his hand instinctively reached up to feel the spot, he was afraid he would give his feelings away. Although he saw only concern in her eyes, he wondered how hard it had been for her to hold back the disgust at his appearance. Surely he revolted her if she thought he needed the water. But she did not revolt him. The brief brush of her fingertips upon his face was enough to arouse long dormant needs in him. He knew she was reluctant to trust him and he would do nothing to put that trust in jeopardy. All he could do now was hideaway his thoughts and keep her safe. That was his end goal. His father had his end goal and now Wolf finally found one; he would keep this woman safe no matter the cost.

Wolf noticed that their trek took on a slight upward track. It was harder to place his footing as each step caused him to slide slightly backward. It was beginning to feel like a Sisyphean task. He turned to remark on this fact to Lady Jaye, when, at that moment, his foot found sand and then kept on plunging downward, until he lost his balance and went head over heels, sliding down the side of an unseen sandy dune. Lady Jaye ran after him and found no better luck with her footing. After a moment of waving her arms back in circles to maintain her footing, she momentarily reached zero gravity as her body floated in the air for a brief second before she tumbled forward, sliding down the dune head first, hands splayed in front of her, useless to stop her momentum. After swallowing a good portion of the sand in which she came into contact, she landed in a heap next to a sprawled Wolf.

Lady Jaye spit some sand out of her mouth, "Well that was rather graceful."

Laughing, Wolf rubbed sand out of his eyes, and brushed it off of his face. Sitting up, he shook his head like a dog, sand spraying out from all angles.

"Hey, watch it!" Lady Jaye dodged as Wolf leaned in next to her and shook his head again, covering her with the fine particles. Not to be outdone, Lady Jaye reached out and, grabbing a handful of sand, snapped the back of Wolf's flight suit, promptly depositing the sand down his back.

"Yowsah!" Wolf barked, jumping up, trying to shake the sand out of his suit. He cocked his head to the side, ready for another assault, but stopped midair, mouth agape. Lady Jaye followed his eyes and the remaining sand in her hand slowly trickled down to the ground like a timer. Rising up before them were three smooth, solid arches carved out of the rocks. The arches were identical in shape and size. Each one was an approximate keyhole shape and eyeballing them, Lady Jaye guessed that they were 30 feet high. The sides of the arches appeared reinforced by square stones set into the wall. The columns between the openings were flat and a ledge was carved into them about two-thirds of the way up. Not Roman in origin, Lady Jaye guessed that these arches were older, much older. Rough stone steps transitioned the sand dunes to the base of the arches. What lay beyond those, only closer inspection would reveal.

At this point, Lady Jaye knew Wolf would provide the explanation. He didn't disappoint, "In Southern Georgia, there's a complex called the Vahani Caves. We believe they date from the 1100s. Paintings of Medieval Georgian rulers were found inside and that gives some time frame. There are about 200 caves linked together. Among the caves are living quarters, antechambers, and churches. But this, I've never heard of this."

Glancing at each other, Wolf and Lady Jaye knew they had no choice but to continue forward into the structure. There was nowhere else to go.


	25. The Cave

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Locatio****n**

**Chapter 25: The Cave**

As his eyes adjusted to the din, Wolf became aware of the short steps leading down into the next cave. He pointed them out to Lady Jaye to keep her from tripping. Descending the stairs, Wolf realized that to call the area just another cave was to imply that it was just a basic room carved out of rock and stone. Instead, just as the entrance suggested, it was more of a chamber, painstakingly crafted by some unknown people as a place, he sensed, of worship and contemplation. The walls were crystalline smooth, metallic flecks twinkling in an unknown light. The room was rectangular in shape. They had entered through a short end and needed to traverse the long length of the rectangle to reach the opposite side.

As they progressed forward, Wolf revamped his opinion of the room. It wasn't just a chamber, it was a church. In neat rows spread before them were stone kneelers, carved with intricate symbols neither Cyrillic nor Roman. On the walls were hundreds of frescos fully preserved as if time had never graced this room. He recognized the scenes of Christianity, with episodes from the life of Christ occupying the walls closest to the entryway. He walked to his right and traced the paintings, not caring if the oils from his hands set off a chain reaction of decay and destruction. As with Thomas, he needed to feel to believe. In front of him was a representation of the Annunciation, followed by the Nativity, Presentation in the Temple, Baptism, Transfiguration, Raising of Lazarus, Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, Last Supper, Washing of the Feet, Crucifixion, Harrowing of Hell, Ascension, Descent of the Holy Spirit, and Dormition. He hit another doorway on the side of the chamber. Turning around, the arches where they came in were painted with scenes from the Last Judgment. He couldn't explain why, but it sent a chill down his spine.

Lady Jaye walked to her left and was equally in awe. She tentatively reached out her hand and quickly withdrew her finger from the wall. The years of Hart training in the observation and appreciation of the fine arts couldn't be overcome in the span of one day. On this wall, more Christian imagery had been painted, only it was not as planned as the other side. Rather, it was a mismatch of angels and demons wresting for control over frightened men in the middle. She didn't recognize the dress and thought she'd have to ask Wolf if the clothes were familiar to him. She stopped when she came upon a doorway in the wall, equidistant from where Wolf now stood. She pointed to the doorway and shrugged her shoulders. Wolf returned the gesture, standing firm.

She cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled across the space, "Should we check these out and regroup?"

Wolf shouted back, "Yes. Any trouble, run."

Lady Jaye flashed him a thumbs up, sheepishly withdrawing it when she realized he probably couldn't see it. She turned away from Wolf and peered into the opening. It was pitch black and she found she couldn't make anything out. There was no way to tell what she was about to walk into. The only comfort she had was that there were no demis. They would have already made their presence known by now. Taking a deep breath, _it's now or never_, she gingerly stepped into the unknown.


	26. The Chambers of Hope and Despair

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 26: The Chambers of Hope and Despair**

Wolf waited for Lady Jaye to disappear into the opening before turning and stepping into the unknown once more. Blinking a few times, he held his arm in front of his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the sudden appearance of light. He had been in the caves so long that this light, even as faint as it was, seemed like walking into a blazing sun. After a few moments, he withdrew his arm, blinking again to clear his vision. Looking around, the walls were awash in a pure white glow. Scrapping the wall, some of the powder clung to his fingers. He brushed them against his pants and they took on the ghostly illumination.

Stepping into the room a few feet, he saw that it was just a small offshoot of the main cavern outside, probably a quiet room for reflection. He felt peaceful and content in this room and had no doubt others had thought the same. Walking the perimeter, his gaze was drawn to the far wall. Upon it was the most amazing mural he had ever seen. He couldn't help but to break out into a childish grin. There before him was the story of his favorite character, Geria, the poor-man's son. There on the left was Geria wishing his parents farewell as he went out into the world to rescue a maiden from the cruel clutches of 12 demis. Another panel was Geria's parents crying over his body, their tears pooling at their feet, not knowing they had the power to bring him back to life. And on yet another panel was the happy ending to the tale, Geria, his new wife, and his parents, arm-in-arm, walking off into the distance to go home.

Wolf reached up and brushed a tear away. As a boy, he had clung to the hope that his life would turn out as Geria's had, that each trial he endured would only serve to test his mettle and guarantee a happy ending. Wolf sat down on the ground, still entranced by the mural. The colors were transcendent and sparkled with an internal light, the blues crisp and the reds fiery. The longer he observed the pictures, the more convinced he became that he could know this happiness. The brushstrokes were so fine and precise that the scenes were more like a picture taken by a camera yesterday than the creation of a hand hundreds of years ago. Wolf leaned back on his hands, spreading his feet out in front of him. It was relaxing just to be there, looking up. The tired ache in his shoulders dissolved away and he felt one with the world. Why did he spend so much time worrying about what would happen? There would be time enough to move on. For now, this was where he should be, a silent observer to the incredible creation that had been waiting for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wolf detected movement. Turning sharply, he shook his head, believing it to be a trick of the light. He could have sworn that Mathicochi, Geria's little dog, was wagging his tail. If Wolf moved his head ever so slightly, it did look like the dog's appendage was fluttering away. Wolf liked it. It was as if the dog had been waiting for him and was overjoyed now that Wolf arrived. Wolf exhaled, allowing the breath to take his troubles with him. Wolf knew he had found his place.

Lady Jaye's foot met with empty air and she felt herself pitched forward into the blackness. With a loud "umphrr," she landed hard on her hands and knees. _That's going to leave a mark_, she couldn't help but think. The ground was hard and rocky under her palms and she pushed herself to her feet. Brushing herself off, she slowly canvassed the room, trying to make out any details. Unlike the other major rooms they had come across, this one had no internal illumination and was almost as black as night. Glancing over her shoulder, the church beyond cast some light into a half-arc through the entryway, but the rest of the chamber had a dark veil hanging over it. She shuddered; she generally wasn't afraid of the dark, even as a child, but there was something ominous about this room.

She took a few steps forward and as her eyes adjusted, the cave took shape around her. It was a quarter of the size of the church outside and there didn't appear to be any other exits besides the one she had used. There didn't seem to be anything else to it—none of the kneelers and paintings of the outside. The only distinguishing feature was a flat-topped boulder directly across from the entrance. She knew she should investigate further but that little voice in the back of her head started to whisper. Maybe she really didn't want to know for what purpose they employed that rock. Her mind went into overdrive imaging all sorts of animal, and probably human, sacrifices that took place long ago. A shiver went down her spine and she rubbed her hands on her arms. It felt like the temperature dropped several degrees.

Pushing away any fear, she walked toward the rock when a sharp pain jabbed her side, causing her to involuntarily double over. Glancing up, she inhaled and exhaled, trying to get a grip on her senses. The pain hit her again and she dropped down to her knees, a strange terror welling up in her chest. It wasn't the voices of the demis; at this point, she'd take those. No, this was a primordial fear. There were dark forces at work and she had to get out.

Struggling to her feet, she was knocked down by a burning sensation coursing through her left thigh. "Ahhhhh," she screamed out loud, unable to take the searing pain. Looking down, she expected her leg to be on fire. Instead the fabric of her pants started to smoke and blacken. Shaking her head did nothing to clear the image. As the fabric blackened, it began to flake and peel away revealing crisp deadened flesh, blood flowing down her leg. Placing a hand to her chest, it came away coated in what had to be her blood. "Oh lord, oh lord," was all she could mutter. Her head throbbed and her vision clouded over with static and dark spots.

She collapsed fully to the ground, curled up in a fetal position as her blood flowed, soaking the dirt upon which she lay. The pain was so intense and acute, she could think of nothing else. She wanted to run but had neither the mind nor the strength. She wanted to die but feared that wouldn't be an option. No, something told her she was here to stay like this forever.

Her ears picked up a sound but she couldn't make it out. The world around her seemed as if she was at the bottom of a swimming pool looking up through the distorting water to hazy shapes above. The sound shifting and distorted, a sort of Doppler Effect in her mind. Then she heard it again, it was a moan. Shifting around, she lifted her head in a feeble attempt and screamed, her head falling back to the ground. Just across from her was her. It looked like her but the figure was dying too, a bullet to the brain. Shifting her head the other way, she steeled herself for what she knew was there, another one. This one was older, a few more lines around the eyes and a piece of steel jammed into her chest.

"Nooo!" Lady Jaye pushed up against the ground, sweat falling from her brow, mixing in with the pooling blood. Her body was shaking from the effort, wet with perspiration. She didn't know why, but every fiber in her being told her the only way out was the rock. If she could get to the rock, she'd be free. She clutched her chest with her right arm to staunch the flow, pulling herself along with her left. Each inch of her progress was met with another apparition of death. On her right was a young Lady Jaye, neck broken from a horse fall. On the left was a baby, born still into this world. Grabbing her head, she tried to squeeze out the images to no avail. She would die a thousand deaths.

Wolf felt a deep sense of peace as he reclined back and watched the painting. It hadn't been a trick of the light, the painting could move. The characters jumped about, reenacting scenes he knew by heart. Wolf took great delight when Geria roughhoused with Mathicochi and nodded knowingly when his mother scolded him for missing dinner. Another exploit was met with a slap to his leg. This was better than a movie; this was surely better than the life waiting for him outside the caves. It didn't matter that his father couldn't be the father Geria had. Just sitting here, he had Geria's father; he was Geria. And in an instant, Wolf ceased to be and he was Geria, adventuring forth into the great mountain, ready to do battle with the demis.

Wolf was astride a magnificent steed, riding out into a great meadow when he came near the abode of the devils. When he looked upon the meadow his heart was glad, and his eyes filled with tears. He thought of his home and its beautiful fields and his parents, so good and kind. He remembered the meals of his mother and long evenings spent in the study discussing life with his father. He uttered a blessing to god the merciful. Then he urged his horse onward, at such speed that clouds of dust rose behind him. Wolf said to himself, "'Lo, I am now in the unknown land!" Up he rode to the demis' gate, leaped from his horse, and tied it there.

Wolf went inside to find the maiden. He broke all the locks he encountered and came to the room where she was. She was astonished, but Wolf's bravery pleased her, and she promised to marry him. Wolf took her into his arms, giving words of love and promising to keep her safe always.

"Stay with me forever," she whispered into his ear, "I will be yours forever." She leaned close, placing her lips upon his. Wolf took from them eagerly, her body warm and giving in his arms. The maiden wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him and placing her cheek against his, whispering again, "Say you'll stay with me forever. You'll never know sadness. Say you'll protect me always."

Wolf moaned as she pressed her body against his. She smelled like honeysuckles in the spring. He was dizzy and his heart raced, threatening to pound right out of his chest. As he buried his head in her hair, he couldn't help but to say, "I'll protect you always Jaye, I promise."

As soon as he uttered those words, Wolf pulled away with a start. The maiden quickly shook her head, reaching up she clasped Wolf's head between her hands, "No love, look at me. Stay with me."

Wolf stepped away, angry and confused. His body was pulling him toward the maiden but it wasn't right. There was something off. How he wanted her; he ached in ways unimaginable, but it was wrong. True happiness didn't come like this. It wasn't this easy. This wasn't his story no matter how many nights he stayed up late imagining what it would be like to run wild and free with Geria's strength and courage. The maiden outstretched her arms, her eyes pleading with Wolf to step inside and lose himself in her. Wolf sadly closed his eyes, and stepped further back. It wouldn't cost him anything to stay but he made a promise. He bound himself to another.

Wolf opened his eyes and found himself standing alone in a glowing white cavern. Although there were no pictures on the wall, he sensed that this was the place from which he had started. Breathing deep, he fought against the desire to stay. He would have hope again, just not here. Turning, he stepped across the threshold, fighting a bit to ensure his physical form followed. With a gentle pop, he stood in the church once more. Searching around, he looked for any sign of Lady Jaye. Seeing none, he debated his next step.


	27. Shepherd's Pass

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Avalanche and Crash Site**

**Chapter 27: Shepherd's Pass**

"Over here, there's someone trapped inside the wreckage."

Lifeline made his way through the snow drifts, fighting with each step. The wreckage of an overturned jeep lay straight ahead, Ripcord frantically waving him over. Lifeline sighed, he was seeing too much of this scene this morning. Overturned jeeps, downed aircraft, the battle with Cobra had done a number on both sides. All he could do was pick up and put the pieces back together. The medic sprinted the last few feet, motioning to a few greenshirts to bring the Jaws of Life and help pry the vehicle's door open.

"Hang on, we're going to get you out." Ripcord yelled out to the person inside. Ripcord stepped aside and let the greenshirts go to work, watching as they used the hydraulic machine to pry open the jeep's back door. Working in tandem with Lifeline, the men carefully reached inside and gently extricated the man. Ripcord shook his head upon seeing who it was, "Oh man, Flint, hang on there good buddy."

Flint moaned in response, barely registering the commotion surrounding him. Ripcord wrapped his arms around Flint's chest and, while carefully stabilizing his head, dragged him on top of a waiting wooden stretcher, holding him still as Lifeline and an assistant tightened the straps, checking for signs of spinal injury. Lifeline shined a flashlight into Flint's eyes, noting with some relief the pupil dilation. _Good_, he thought, _we've got some response_. He reached down and spoke into his comm-link, "Lifeline here, we've got one person so far from this site. Need a medi-evac stat." A voice requested the coordinates. "Roger that, we're smack dab in the middle of . . ." Lifeline looked to Ripcord for confirmation, "umm, it's called, umm, the English translation is the Shepherd Judge's Pass, I think?"

Flint appeared agitated at the words, mumbling something, trying to shake the mask free. Lifeline lifted the oxygen mask from his face, "Flint?"

"No, can't, I, can't let her go."

"Flint, who, let who go?"

Flint's eyes remained closed, but his head tossed uneasily from side to side. "No, not here, not here. . ." his voice trailed off as he fought against the restraints. Summoning strength he didn't know he possessed, he ripped the fabric straps and pulled away from the board. Adrenalin pumped through his system spurring him onward. The helpless greenshirts who dared get in his way stood no chance as Flint staggered to his feet, thrusting them aside to make his way around the overturned vehicle. There was no trace of her; her footprints had been erased by the shifting snow. "No!" he yelled and fell down to one knee, weak from exertion. He was woozy and disorientated and thought he would throw-up. Reaching back to grab the jeep, he hauled himself up to unsteady feet, stumbling forward like a toddler learning to walk. She had to be somewhere.

His last memory was of seeing her concerned face above his. She was injured as much as he had been, _if not more_, he flinched at the thought. She'd managed to stick him back in the jeep and he faintly recalled her footsteps fading away to the other side. Surveying the barren landscape spread before him, Flint knew she couldn't have gotten very far. With cracked ribs, probably a concussion, it would be a miracle if she pulled it together long enough to trek a few meters in this sludge.

He released his grip on the jeep to take a better view and instantly regretted it. There was a dagger driving through the back of his head and he was finding it difficult to maintain his equilibrium. Swaying under the pressure, he locked down and went into what Jaye affectionately, or at least he'd like to think it was affectionate, called his "robo-soldier" mode. Pushed aside was the hurt, in its place was a laser-like focus on the task at hand. He knew what he was looking for and as he found it, his heart fell to his stomach. Straight ahead, a smudge of green, squinting, he made out a glimpse of her parka, motionless. Flint pushed away from the jeep and ran toward the slumped figure, screaming inside that it couldn't be; it couldn't happen like this.

The wind appeared out of nowhere and became an impenetrable brick wall upon which he slammed himself against. Blowing snows reclaimed their victim once more, but her location was burned in his retina. He fought against the weather, daring it to give its best, placing one foot in front of the other. He counted the steps he estimated it would take him to reach her and crouched down a few inches from her form. "Come on babe!" He was urgent with fear. He reached forward to rouse her but instead found himself falling through the snow and what seemed like space and time, landing with a loud crash in some cavern below. Looking up, he could see her body hugging the rim of an opening in the ground that the snow must have concealed. He slapped his forehead, muttering a few obscenities. As he watched, the wind picked up, blanketing the top and shielding Lady Jaye from his view once more.

_Damn it!_ The frustration kicked in. There was only one way to get back up top. Grasping a low-hanging rock in the wall, Flint hoisted his body up, feeling the rocks for another outcrop. Finding it he dug his toes into the side, pulling up on the rocks above. The rock upon which his foot rested promptly cracked under his weight, sending him sprawling to the ground. _Damn it! _He tried again, and again, and yet again. Each time he got exactly the same distance up only to be thrown back down to the ground. He could swear the hole was rejecting his efforts and intended to keep him down there.

Kicking at the dirt, Flint pondered his next move with a clear head. He needed to get back up, but the high road wasn't cutting it. Well, if the high road wouldn't do, he allowed his eyes to wander until they set upon a pile of rocks and dirt. _Well slap me five and call me Jenny_, what to his wandering eyes should appear but a hole leading to somewhere. Flint got down on his hands and knees and poked his head through.


	28. A HeartKiss Is Better Than a LipKiss

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Undisclosed Location**

**Chapter 28: A heart-kiss is better than a lip-kiss**

Wolf paced impatiently up and down the length of the church, glancing down at his wrist, useless without a watch. He called out to Lady Jaye, but no answer. He had no idea how long he had been in the cavern but it couldn't have been that long. He trusted Lady Jaye implicitly and never once thought that she would strike on ahead without him. No, she would wait just as he would wait. But how long to wait? What if he had been in the cave's grasp for days, months, would he expect her to wait that long? No, after a certain point, she would have to move on. He cursed and paced some more. It didn't feel right.

Turning to where Lady Jaye had been, Wolf's patience was at an end. He didn't care if she thought him overprotective. He had a sense she valued her freedom and independence and couldn't stand for being saved yet he could care less what she thought at this moment. He was worried and he would satiate that concern.

Stomping across the space, he tried to make as much noise with his feet as he could to signal to her that he was outside. He reached the entryway and yelled out, "Lady Jaye, Lady Jaye? I'm here, we should go." Counting to ten, he tried it again, louder this time, "Lady Jaye, did you find anything?" Looking up, throwing his hands in the air, Wolf gave up and decided to go in.

Wolf hesitantly stepped into the cave, catching himself on the unexpected step down. A shiver raced down his spine; _this is not right_. He took a step forward, heart beating faster in his chest. If the other cave had bestowed him with feelings of unnatural serenity, this cave radiated only despair and anguish. The negative emotions were overwhelming. This place was death. "Lady Jaye, Lady Jaye?" he whispered out loud. Why wasn't she answering him? He feared for her. "Lady Jaye!" He shouted out louder, nervous for what he might find.

He took a step further into the cave and found that his hands began to itch at an alarming rate. It reminded him of the one time he had gone hiking into the mountains with a group of his school friends. Someone had the idea that it would make a much more exciting adventure if they strayed off the marked path. The young boys soon learned there were reasons for marking trails that had nothing to do with the government's desire to quell the boys' adventuresome spirits. Sure enough that adventure turned into a week of calamine baths and bandaged-wrapped hands after the boys found their way through a patch of poison ivy. The itching in his hands was not unlike that he experienced before. But this feeling was also different. It was radiating up his arms. Wolf looked down at his hands and cried out. The skin was blistering and turning red, his fingertips were charred. As his flesh peeled away, the itching sensation turned to intense pain. A putrid smell filled his nostrils and he leaned over, vomiting at the thought of his own cooked flesh.

Dabbing at his mouth with his sleeve, his eyes wandered up and he saw Lady Jaye, lying a few feet in front of him, crawling to an unknown point in the room. She was reaching out for something; he could feel the desperation in her jarred movements. He called out to her again, but she couldn't hear him. He inched forward on his hands and knees, sensing that if he didn't get them out they would be trapped there forever, their bodies wasting away.

As he pushed himself forward, his left hand brushed against a piece of cloth. Turning his head to the side, he had no voice left to scream as he gazed upon himself, dead, clutching his stomach, a bullet wound in his abdomen. To his right, it was him again, only this time his head was propped upon his chest at an awkward angle, his neck no doubt broken. He pushed himself up to his knees and lifted his head to cry out against the many deaths being shown to him. If this was what he was experiencing now, he didn't want to imagine what Lady Jaye had been going through. Closing his eyes, Wolf mustered his last bit of strength, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming in pain as his burnt flesh was scrapped by the rocks and dirt on the floor. He felt her leg and began to pull her back closer to him.

She resisted him, trying to wrench her leg from his grasp. Wolf, despite the pain searing through his body, wouldn't let go. He gingerly rose to his feet, fighting against her to take her up in his arms. "Come on, I've got you." He pulled Jaye up underneath her shoulders, trying to get her on steady ground. Lady Jaye didn't have the strength to stand on her own and wrapped her arms around Wolf's neck. He hoisted her up into his arms, fighting the urge to drop her as her body pressed against his raw flesh. Spinning around, he opened his eyes, and was greeted by a mirror image. There before him, he stood, holding a lifeless Lady Jaye in his arms, his body nothing more than smoky bones and flesh hanging off in strips. A malevolent grin formed over the skeleton's face. It meant to keep them there. With a snarl, Wolf rushed at the figure, clutching Lady Jaye to his chest. The skeleton remained, holding its ground. Wolf closed his eyes and took a flying leap and with a loud popping sound, tumbled into a heap outside the horrors of the cave.

Gasping for air, Wolf crawled to the nearest wall and leaned against it, trying to calm his mind and catch his breath. He still gripped to Lady Jaye to his chest, afraid to let her go. He remembered how hard it had been to leave the cave opposite where they were and he could only imagine how hard it would be to leave not of your own accord. She didn't protest though and remained curled up against his chest, eyes closed, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

Wolf held up one of his hands and sighed with relief as the burn marks faded from view. It was a mystery to him how they had gotten there, why that death had been chosen for him to experience. This whole place was another world with physics outside the normal realm of reality. He glanced back down at the figure in his arms, concerned that she still remained unconscious, barely taking in shallow, raspy breaths.

"Lady Jaye, please, Lady Jaye." He reached down and brushed an errant strand of hair off her face. Her skin was clammy and cold to the touch. Placing his hand against her throat, he couldn't feel anything. With a sign of the cross and "Please lord, it's not like that," Wolf cringed slightly as he placed his hand underneath her shirt, feeling for a heartbeat. It was there, a soft pump against his fingertips. He allowed himself to relax and closed his eyes.

He snapped to when a whimper escaped from Lady Jaye and she started to shake violently. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, "Shhh, shhh, I have you. You're safe. You're safe." He rocked her back and forth as if he was soothing a crying baby. He didn't know what else to do. She must be going through shock and he would just have to ride it out. She cried out, eyes still clenched tight. It tore Wolf up to see her like this. If only he had gone in after her sooner. If only he had chosen that chamber. He felt like a dunce. He promised to protect her and was failing miserably. With a scream, Lady Jaye's eyes snapped open and she pushed away from Wolf, still seeing visions of death from the chamber.

Wolf fought against her to hold her close, "No, it's me. Shhh, it's me. I have you. You're safe." Lady Jaye struggled for a few minutes longer and then the fight was gone; she slumped against Wolf's chest, the shaking subsiding.

Wolf looked down and instinctively stroked her head, running his fingers through her hair. The motion soothed him, allowed him time to catch his breath and be still. Jaye clung to him tightly, crying softly into his shirt. He held her as she cried. "Shhhhh," he tried his best to console her, but such actions were never his forte.

She didn't care how she appeared or if he thought she was weak. This place played with your mind. Best to let it out now and be prepared to fight then to stew and be unable to face what was to come.

Wolf brushed his hand along her cheek, "I'm so sorry Lady Jaye. It will be alright."

"Alison, my name's Alison." She was done with code names.

"Alison."

"Wolf . . ."

"I am Revaz. Call me Rezo."

"Rezo." He liked the way she pronounced his name. It was with a lilting accent, American, yet not quite, there was something else, something he couldn't place. It was almost musical. He longed for her to say it again. She complied, "Rezo, what is this place?"

"I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders, "I think this place has a soul older than the paintings suggest. I'm, I, I just don't know."

"What's happening to us?"

"I think, I, I don't know." He wished he had an answer, some explanation that made sense. He searched his mind going over the tales of his youth but there was nothing; no one had ever spoken of this place that contained so many dark things.

"I'm scared." Let him think she was a coward, she didn't care.

"Me too." He gripped her tighter, nuzzling his head down into her hair. Despite the dangers of what they were facing, he couldn't prevent other thoughts from sneaking their way into his head. Her shampoo's fragrance, a heady mixture of berries and flowers, lingered ever so faintly. He breathed in deeply. They should get moving but it felt so good to open up to her, to get past the façade he had thrown up as a shield. His thoughts began to jump ahead. Maybe in another time, another place, they could mean something to each other. Maybe this was their time. He lightly kissed the top of her head and traced his lips down to her temple. She lifted her head in response, closing her eyes. He remained in that position, lips pressed to her temple, taking in the whole of her. He felt lightheaded yet more grounded than he had been in so long. Her skin's warmth had returned and she felt alive. He felt alive next to her. The delicate fabric of her sweater did little to mask her quickened breath as her chest rose and fell against his. He could hear her heart beat in time to his, pa-pump, pa-pump, pa-pump. He traced his lips down her cheek feeling the slight raising of goose bumps in response to his touch. Her heart beat faster still. The anticipation and longing was eating him inside. In the span of a moment he felt a desire he thought long dormant. Without any thought to the past or future, Wolf lived in the now, raising his lips from her cheek, he gently set them down upon her mouth, grasping her tighter to his chest.

Lady Jaye returned his kiss, becoming lost in Wolf's embrace. With a soft whimper, she gave in to Wolf's eagerness. She fed off his emotions and allowed herself to be swept away on a tidal current of past memory. In her mind's eye another surfaced to the forefront. She pictured another's embrace and felt another's touch. The passion was there. Breathing deep, Wolf's mouth was familiar and foreign to her. She could taste the sharp sting of cinnamon and spearmint, but there were other tastes and scents. There was a dulled tobacco and diesel tang along with a musky aroma to which she was not accustomed. The lips too were strong but thinner then she memorized and replayed during the quiet moments of her day. They partook of her with a hunger and ferociousness that sent tingles coursing through her body. She wanted this; she needed this, she suddenly felt he was there and said his name, "Dash," softly and longingly. Opening her eyes, she gasped and pulled away.

Wolf was a man without thought, lost as he was in the moment. His whole body was alive and on fire. This was what it meant to be alive, to truly be a part of the world. The rebukes of his father, the death of his mother, the burden he was buried under every day ceased to be. What mattered was the only thing that should ever matter, the here and now. When she uttered the word "Dash," it meant nothing to him. Perhaps it was an American thing. Americans were always coming up with new slang. When she pulled away, that had an impact and jarred him out of his haze. The look on her face crushed him. He had only hoped for her joy. He hadn't meant to hurt her. "Alison, I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . ."

She reached up and placed her hand on his lips, shaking her head, "No Rezo, it wasn't you. You didn't know. I can't. I just, I'm, I'm not ready."

"There is someone else?" It was a question even though Wolf was certain of the answer.

"There is, I mean, there was, I, I guess I don't know." Her face scrunched up, unable to mask the grief, "Oh god, Rezo, I don't know."

Wolf held her close and rocked her. He didn't know what else to do, "I'm sorry Alison. It must hurt. What happened?"

"I ended it. But he was my partner in the battle and he saved me. I was trying to save him when I fell. And now, he's probably dead. He's not mine yet I just . . ."

"You still feel for him."

She hated to inflict any pain on Rezo, but she couldn't lie to him. It was true, she still felt for Flint. Even though he could be dead, even though he may not want anything to do with her given what had happened, it was there. She couldn't deny her heart. She wanted to see him again and to kiss him and only him. There was an attraction to Rezo, she'd be lying if she tried to deny otherwise. It still wasn't what she felt for Flint. Rezo had saved her. She would forever be grateful. She just couldn't give him this. "I do."

Wolf stoked her hair, still holding her to his chest. "Oh Alison, it's all right. I understand. I will get you to this man. He must be special."

"Rezo, you don't have to. I feel, I, you, I mean, I . . ."

"No, no. We will get out of here and find him. Then there are things I must do."

Lady Jaye sat up and studied his face. It was more than once that he had mentioned there were things he had to do. His face was set in stone, however, and although she had her suspicions as to what his future task might be, she could be wrong. "What must you do Rezo?"

"I must stop my father."

There it was again, that absolute certainty. She felt like Pandora, but she had to ask; she had to know once and for all, "Who is your father?"

Wolf returned her look, his face cocked at a slight angle, sizing her up she felt. With a bob of his head, Wolf was satisfied, "The savior of Georgia, the great Giorgi Makashvili."

Hearing the words was worse than she expected. She knew, yet to have it confirmed, her chest ached. How could she be such a fool? How could she not see?

Wolf, concerned by the sudden greenish cast to her skin, rubbed her back in reassurance, "I take it you know my father?"

Looking down at the ground, Lady Jaye merely nodded her head in response.

"Trusted him you did?"

She gave Wolf the same reply.

Wolf blew air out between parsed lips, shaking his head in sympathy, "Do not trouble yourself; it is what he does. He gets you to trust. No, no one is a match when it comes to the levels at which my father will operate. He has had a plan and you all were just objects he needed to move. He will get his wish. Georgia will be free. I only hope it won't be to his liking."

"What do you mean?"

"My father played all sides, the nationalists, the Soviets, the Americans, Gamsakhurdia, Cobra, using each one to get closer to his end game. But it will come back to haunt him. We have a saying, 'the hen scratched and scratched till she dug up a knife,'"

Lady Jaye interjected, "'with which her own throat was afterwards cut.'"

Wolf smiled, "Ah, I see, you do know my father." Wolf reached down and picked up a pebble, scrutinizing it then tossing it across the cavern, "He has dug up the knife and it will cut him. Gamsakhurdia will not last, the nationalists will never trust him, and Cobra won't survive. Cobra hates the nationalists and didn't have enough time to get established before you all showed up. No, the knife is ready."

"But Rezo, how did you. . . "

"Get involved?" He picked up another rock, whipping it across the space, "I thought I could save him from himself. Maybe get him out once Cobra was done with him. I volunteered to be Cobra's guinea pig because I didn't know any other way. Maybe I should have let him hang. But he is my father, I could not."

"Rezo," Lady Jaye reached out to him, touching his cheek, unsure what else to say.

Wolf took her hand in his and clasped it tight. Holding it for a moment, he closed his eyes and lightly placed his lips upon her palm. There were so many things he wanted to say to her. There were so many feelings running rampant through his brain; it was the agony and the ecstasy of it all. He knew there could be no tomorrow for them. It didn't stop him from wanting to prolong today. Opening his eyes, he saw the compassion on her face, the concern in her eyes. He wished he could garner a different look. He would take what he could get. At that moment, his mind was made up. The pain was something he would endure if she would be happy. With a last kiss, Wolf pointed to the far side, "We should get moving."

Lady Jaye nodded her acquiescence and picked herself up off the floor. Wolf paused, taking one last moment to hurl a rock across the room, channeling all his rage into that one act. The rock found its mark and chipped a hole out of the Harrowing of Hell image. Wolf smiled, it wouldn't have him yet.


	29. You are leading me on

A/N: Sorry for the delay- work got crazy busy as it seems everyone decided to sue all at once. But briefs all in and now back to the fun, for me. Hope you all are enjoying and the pace is going to pick up. Thanks for the reviews and taking the time to spend some time with my story.

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Shepherd's Pass**

**Chapter 29: You are leading me on**

Lifeline knew better than to get in Flint's way. Instead, he stood back and observed as the burly man plowed over the hapless greenshirts. Chuckling, he knew this was one mission with which to not interfere. No, he preferred to sit back and count to twenty, which he estimated as a reasonable amount of time to allow the warrant officer to burn out.

He got to ten, and held up a hand to stop Ripcord, "Give him ten more seconds." Ripcord paused; amazed that Lifeline could be so unflappable given the escaping Flint. But Lifeline, a practitioner of aikido who devoted himself to preserving the harmonious way of life, had learned to maintain his cool in the worst of circumstances. This usually manifested itself on the battle field where Lifeline never attacked, only defended. As a pacifist, Lifeline would never be the aggressor. His goal was to always save his patient.

Even then, his fluid and trained motions of deflecting an adversary's charge brought the occasional disbelieving eye.

Counting to fifteen, Lifeline was more amused than anything that he would even have to count. As a Joe, he quickly discovered that it wasn't his patients he was losing but rather his patience. If ever there was a more rag tag group in desperate need of some discipline, his teammates were it. By the end of his third week as a Joe, Lifeline found himself flexing his fists more than once. In fact, others would remark that in a particular training session with Beachhead, there was some question as to whether Lifeline merely redirected the force of Beachhead's attack, as was consistent with his philosophy, or used his parry as a cover to place one well-directed fist into Beachhead's face. It was after this incident that Lifeline took to getting up extra early to head off base to meditate on his predicament. During one of these sessions, as he counted breaths, it came to him, he just needed to count.

Life gave him an opportunity to test out his new approach that afternoon after stumbling upon a rather heated discourse between Lady Jaye and a nurse concerning the required vaccinations for an upcoming mission. The old Lifeline would have pulled his hair out trying to convince the covert specialist that the nurse "didn't have it in for her" and "wasn't fudging the paperwork." The new Lifeline estimated it to be at least a thirty and started ticking off the numbers in his head. As he approached 26, the nurse and Lady Jaye stopped their bickering and just stared as if he had walked into the room wearing a pineapple on his head and no pants. Lady Jaye opened her mouth and Lifeline shook his head once, silencing her before she could start. As his mind said 30, he looked at her, announced that there was no great conspiracy and to please allow the medical staff to do their job. Satisfied at a crisis averted, Lifeline continued on his way.

Reaching twenty, Lifeline made his way around the astonished greenshirts to the other side of the jeep where he imagined Flint would be passed out. Finding no Flint, Lifeline looked down and followed the footprints to his confirmation, "Hey Ripcord," Lifeline called behind him, "I'm going to need some help over here."

Ripcord met up with Lifeline and followed his sight line to a ball of Flint passed out in the snow a few lengths away from the jeep. "Well, at least he didn't get too far." Ripcord whistled to the greenshirts to bring the stretcher over.

Lifeline and Ripcord picked their way through the snow, exchanging theories as to what Flint had been mumbling. Initially surprised at not seeing Lady Jaye at the site, Lifeline listened to Ripcord's dissertation on the rumors of their demise. Ripcord felt personally responsible, while Lifeline pondered how many more numbers he would have to add to his interactions with the former pair. Dealing with them was manageable at best when they were together, apart it would be a horror to treat grumpy and grumpier. But hey, wasn't a guaranteed pension worth the added stress?

Although there might have been some question as to how Flint ended up in the backseat, both men had witnessed too many weird things that day to take particular stock of Flint's situation. No, to them, this was standard operating procedure when initiating a Flint rescue. It ceased to be standard operating procedure when next to Flint they found Lady Jaye, passed out, pink snow surrounding her prone figure. Lifeline yelled, "Winter kit, STAT!"

The greenshirts sprang to life, rushing forward with warming blankets and Lifeline's trauma kit. Deeming Lady Jaye to be the more serious of the two, Lifeline relegated Flint's care to a junior medic and turned his attention to Jaye. Rolling her over onto her back, Lifeline began to check her vitals. Her pulse was slow and sluggish and her pupils barely responded to his inspection. "Ripcord," he ordered, "hold her head while I check for wounds."

Ripcord responded, leaving Flint to the ministrations of a junior medic. Flint at least had shown he could move, Lady Jaye, on the other hand, showed no signs of real life. As he held her steady, Ripcord said a silent prayer that his buddy would pull through. He couldn't imagine the Joes without her and he and Mainframe would be left two wandering souls.

Lifeline tore the parka open, exposing a tattered sweater and a nasty puncture wound to her chest. Checking her leg, Lifeline breathed a sigh of relief that whatever had stabbed her missed her artery and was of such heat that some of the wound was cauterized. Motioning Ripcord around to elevate her leg, Lifeline went into overdrive and the only numbers left in his head were the medical calculations of life and death.

* * *

Flint entered the cave, cursing his lack of a firearm. He could have sworn he packed his pistol. Drawing his knife from his boot, he felt like he just brought a feather to a bomb fight, or whatever that saying was. If it wasn't Yeats then he didn't need to know, or, at least that's what he told Lady Jaye when he messed up a quote. Letting out a whistle, maybe a bomb fight wasn't that far off. Scattered around him were all the signs of a massive brawl. To the left of where he stood, he could make out the impressions and displacement of soil from a body withering out of the way. There too were deep divots and indents from something jabbing at the retreating figure. Stepping away from the wall, he turned his head and fought to keep his dinner down. In the middle of the room was a mass of putrid liquid and bones. Kicking at the pile, Flint leaned down and picked up a bone. _Please god, please god, don't let it be_. Relief washed over him as closer examination revealed that the bone was much too large to belong to Jaye.

He didn't know why that thought went through his head. Lady Jaye was up above and he was just trying to get back. _And I have a bridge to sell in Brooklyn_. A nagging suspicion that something wasn't quite right was growing in the back of his brain. It seemed a little too convenient that Jaye was hugging a hole he couldn't see. He smelled a potential trap. Putting the bone back down, Flint finished canvassing the cavern. Seeing nothing else of interest, he decided to move on. Ducking through the next opening, a flash of green caught his eye. Stooping down, he picked up a fragment of army green nylon. He knew where he had seen that before, Lady Jaye's parka. Tucking it into his pocket, things were getting weirder. Suddenly, Hardy came to mind, _you are leading me on, to the spots we knew when we haunted here together_. He instinctively felt that Lady Jaye wasn't up top but rather was down below with him, close. If he could find her, maybe some of this would start to make sense._ Hold on, I'm coming._

* * *

Wolf and Lady Jaye exited the church and found themselves once again on familiar ground as the path turned into a long, winding tunnel faintly lit by the glowing orange powder. The pair had no way to tell if they were headed in a new direction or if the path was one already tread. All they could do was to keep placing one foot in front of the other. Lady Jaye was starting to loss hope. Every action seemed to just be a marker in what would be a never-ending series of actions. She foresaw them marching forward, overcoming a challenge, and then marching on again. It would never end. They would almost be better served by staying put and letting whatever it was come to them. Why make it harder than it had to be.

She stopped. "Rezo?"

"Hmmm?" he turned back toward her.

"How do you feel?"

"Alright I suppose."

"No, not like that," she paused; she didn't want to influence him, "Mood-wise. What are you feeling?"

Wolf scanned his thoughts. He had been ruminating on the futility of his feelings for Lady Jaye. Come to think of it, those thoughts had been taking on a darker tone. Wolf understood Lady Jaye's query all the more, "Not again."

She tried to control the emotions on her face but she truly felt finished. Closing her eyes, she concurred with Wolf, "They're coming." Her whole demeanor changed as her head dropped and the despair stepped in.

Wolf grabbed her by the arms and shook her, "No, we are not giving up."

"Just let them take us. It won't be so bad." Her voice was transparent and distant. She wouldn't even look at Wolf.

Wolf squeezed harder, "No. Look at me. We will fight."

Lady Jaye felt as if she was drifting away. She could hear Wolf's voice and he sounded angry but she couldn't make out his words. He was a blurred figure on the periphery. There were the voices of doubt and the voices of something else. She could barely discern her name. Could it be possible that the demis would know her name?

"No. Fight!" Wolf released an arm and slapped her in the face.

Lady Jaye gasped and lifted her hand to her cheek, still stinging. Her eyes were on him now.

"Ahh. . . ." Wolf's face was a mix of conflicted emotions. He had to get her back; he hurt her. He walked off a few steps away from her. "Alison." He leaned his face into the wall, hiding his shame.

Lady Jaye had a clearer head and stepped up to him, a hand on his shoulder, "It's ok."

Wolf jumped at the touch, agitated and unsettled. Now he was the one that couldn't look her in the eye. He chastised his brain. He could never explain his actions. After all his talk of saving her and protecting her from harm, it turned out he was the one from whom she needed protection.

"Come on Rezo. It's the demis talking." She let out a chuckle, "Don't make me hit you."

Wolf glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth raised, "Heh. Good one."

"Truce?" Lady Jaye held out a hand. Wolf was about to take it when the ground trembled beneath their feet and they went down in an awkward pile of arms and legs. Wolf scrambled to his feet, half dragging her down the corridor and half pulling her to her feet, "Run!"

The earth rumbled again, and Wolf tripped over his feet, skidding a few feet down the path. Lady Jaye's legs gave out under her, and she fell a few paces behind him. Using the wall to steady her movements, she dashed over to Wolf, helping him up. A low roar echoed against the walls and was like nails on a chalkboard, grating down their spines. Lady Jaye covered her ears, "Make it stop!"

Wolf tugged at her, "Just run! Run!" Grabbing her hand, he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, praying they could survive. They bolted as if hell itself were at their heels. Digging into the dirt, Lady Jaye pushed past the pain of muscles spent and oxygen gone low. It became too much to maintain her pace and hold on to Wolf's hand. Reluctantly, she released his fingers, ignoring the demis' shrill cries that replaced his comforting grip. Several sharp turns in the corridor tripped up the pair, but they managed to keep up the grueling pace, until they hit a dead end.

Wolf saw the wall a split second before he crashed headfirst. Willing his body to a skidding stop, he managed to swing his torso around and grab Lady Jaye, preventing her from slamming into it. With a slight grunt, he pushed her toward the ground, using his body to shield her from the jarring impact with the blunt outcrop of rocks ahead. Taking the brunt of the blow in his right shoulder, he yelled out and tumbled over her, leaving the two lying there, panting and gasping for air.

Wolf hoisted up to a sitting position, shuddering at the pain radiating from his shoulder; surely it had to be dislocated. There wasn't time to assess. There was only time to move. From the looks of it, a decision had to be made.

Smiling in an effort to hide his pain, Wolf already made the decision; it was getting her to agree that would be the hard part. Standing to his feet, Wolf assisted Lady Jaye up. He sensed a change in her demeanor and knew she had noticed the same thing.

Glancing to either side, Lady Jaye whispered, "The lady or the tiger; we have to choose."

"There's a third choice."

She diverted her attention to Wolf. Searching his face, she tried to get a read off of him. He was closing her out. She set her chin in grim determination; he couldn't shake her that easily. "No, we stick together. It's our only chance."

"It _was_ our only chance." The emphasis wasn't lost on her, "Chance has changed for me."

"Oh no, don't you go playing macho big man on me. We pick one."

Here came the hard part, "And I've picked, I go that way," he pointed to his left, "and you go that way," he pointed just beyond where she stood. "Decision made." He stared at a fixed mark above her head; he couldn't look at her, not now.

"No, Rezo, no. _We_ will go left." She stepped toward him, reaching out.

He batted her arm away, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't think you understand." The demis were gaining ground. There was no time for pleasantries. If she wouldn't move of her own accord, he would have to do it another way. A part of his soul would die but what choice did he have? "Go, now. I'll count to five before I leave."

"Rezo?" The tone of her voice cut at him. It was soft and questioning, she truly didn't understand. Lady Jaye's lower lip trembled, she sucked it in, embarrassed that her emotions were so forthcoming. It was probably the most overplayed scenario in Cover Girl's romance novels, yet here it was unfolding before her eyes, leaving her an unwilling participant. He was going to send her off in hopes of sacrificing himself. She wouldn't stand for it. She held her ground.

"Don't even start." Wolf looked through her. "You think my father was the only one who could play a game?" There, the sharp intake of breath; he knew he startled her and pulled out that little voice of warning that had to have been hidden in her head. "You honestly think my father did it all on his own? My father could never do what he did without me."

"Please Rezo . . ."

Maintaining a steady clip to dig away at her resolve as well as to keep his feelings in check, Wolf dug up the knife, "No, he needed me to do the things he couldn't do," a laugh for affect, a laugh to keep from crying, "And now we've come to an end. You'll only slow me down." He pointed behind her, "Go, now. I'd rather they follow you than me."

Her body betrayed her heart as she took a small step back.

Wolf had that metaphorical knife in his hands, "If I have a chance, that doesn't leave much room for you." Wolf fought against the pain emanating from his shoulder. The endorphins had faded and he was in dire straits. "One. Alison, I'm the faster runner."

She took another step back, "Come on Rezo. Stop it."

But he needed her to think she was the one in dire straits, "I think this is where our partnership ends." A wink and a leering smile, he resumed his countdown, "Two."

Silence was her only retort. In as many days she had allowed another Makashvili in. Fool her once, shame on them, fool her twice? She gulped and edged away from Wolf. It didn't seem right. This wasn't Wolf, this wasn't her Wolf. But what did she really know about Wolf? What had she known about Giorgi? Like father?

"I see it on your face, yes, like son." Another laugh and Wolf closed the coffin on his happiness, "Tsk, tsk Alison. You should learn from your mistakes." A rumble in the distance punctuated his words, "They're coming. I'm giving you a head start. It's only fair."

"Damn you Rezo." She wiped away a tear and darted down the corridor.

Wolf slumped against the wall behind him, slamming his fists. "Arghhhhh!" His scream echoed through the corridor. Falling to the ground, his eyes locked on the hazy approaching shapes. He mumbled to himself, "on three," and rotated his right arm inward. Grasping his wrist with his left hand, he braced his back against the wall. Screaming out, "Three!," he pushed his right arm outward, popping the joint back in.


	30. And I came to a path

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Shepherd's Pass**

**Chapter 30: And I came to a Path**

Lifeline counted the beats of Lady Jaye's heart against the sweeping second hand of his watch. He cringed as a pattern of a strong pulse was followed by a weak pulse, over and over again. This wasn't good. Lady Jaye was flagging. "One" he called out to his senior medic. The man, a veteran of many a Joe campaign, clicked his mouth and scribbled the number down. Lifeline felt trapped. He needed to stabilize Lady Jaye to move her, but every time he thought he had her, she would slip away the moment the greenshirts even thought of moving her. At one point Lifeline thought he made it through to her as she seemed to respond to his name. It was just his mind playing tricks with him. He turned to check the progress on Flint.

The young medic overseeing Flint's care appeared overwhelmed with the task. A recent recruit named Sullivan, the brightness of his hair was matched only by the color of his cheeks when the others would rib him about his resemblance to Scarlett. Some dubbed him Scarlett Junior, others Big Red, noting that neither name matched the earnest, skinny kid with floppy ears. Red seemed to be catching and was the name Lifeline employed, "Red, how's he doing?"

Red glanced up, his deer-in-the-headlights look strangely reassuring to Lifeline, "Hanging in there Sir. Most recent check is a Three."

"Red, how many times?"

"I know Sir, yikes, I mean, no Sir, that's no sir as in . . ." The kid let those thoughts trail off, "Right. I think he's stabilized." With a shrug of his shoulders, "He's transportable."

Lifeline disagreed with Red's last assessment and waved him off. The last thing he needed was a stampeding warrant officer on the loose. If Lifeline even so much as entertained the thought of splitting the two up, he'd just as rather walk into Snake Eye's training class and volunteer to let the ninja have a go at him. The medic didn't care what Ripcord had reported, looking down at the stabilized figure of Flint, arm still reaching out to Lady Jaye, was all the confirmation he needed. Lifeline pointed toward Flint, "Get him another blanket." Red nodded and got back to work.

Lifeline returned his focus to Lady Jaye. Her condition was truly puzzling to him. The bleeding was controlled and he felt he could get her body stabilized enough for transport to a better facility, but it was her mind that troubled him. Every time he tried to move her, she would go off the charts, and not in a good way. It was as if in moving her he was severing her from this place and this place was the only thing sustaining her. It was a risky move but he would stand down and ride this one out. Piling more blankets around her and poking her with a few more needles, Lifeline wondered how long he could stall this rescue operation.

* * *

Flint wandered the corridors lost, confused, yet with purpose. _Keep going forward_, that's all he could think to do. It was a visceral reaction to the circumstance, an intangible suspicion that he was merging paths with her. Every so often he was certain he found traces of her presence, despite the fact his reason told him she was topside. There were the faint impressions of footprints; there was an errant strand of hair, and more pieces of the parka, some fabric, some stuffing. It was undeniable to him that he was tracking her. If he truly thought, no, if he truly felt, that she was not here, he should have stayed put in that cave until the cavalry arrived. That would have been the intelligent decision. Often times though, pure intelligence didn't factor into his tactical moves. Rather feelings and emotions, perceptions and desires, those were the critical components of moving a team across a battlefield. The best data in the world could point to one path to the enemy and the best data could still be wrong. He felt her down here and he was betting on that hunch.

He quickened his pace as the path before him changed and grew wider, the ragged sides becoming smoothed and polished, the dirt floor lined with a neat edging of white rocks guiding his path. Now he was getting somewhere; he wasn't the first man to roam these caverns. Following the path, it opened up into a wide cavern and he had the same feeling of awe experienced by Wolf and Lady Jaye. To Flint, it was an unexplained world. Maybe this was where Jules Vern found his muse? Stepping into the clearing, Flint touched the vegetation and the leaves felt like hard pieces of shale. Just up ahead a stone, gray bridge spanned a cobalt blue flowing river. To Flint's eye, it was a serene scene; there were no traces of the battle that had previously been waged upon its surface, including the Ocho Kochi. Exploring further, Flint noticed a small rowboat moored to the shore just to the side of the bridge, oars proper up against the bow. If ever he needed a sign telling him he was on the right path, this had to be it.

Picking his way down the slope, Flint untied the boat, hopped aboard, and paddled downstream, hardly taking any moment to notice the abundance of vegetation dotting the shores. The flora and his exertions created an almost tropic atmosphere, and Flint shrugged his coat off, loosening the collar of his shirt. He had half a mind to kick off his shoes and allow the current to take him where it would. All he needed to complete the lazy scene was an icy cold beer and a Kansas basketball game playing in the background. He chuckled; Lady Jaye would disagree on that last part. For whatever reason, if she was in the lounge and a Red Sox game was televised, pity the man who attempted to change the channel.

With a pitch forward, the boat caught a current and Flint was soon racing at great speed down the river, using the paddle as leverage to keep from capsizing. The background whizzed by at an alarming rate and Flint and the boat hovered weightless momentarily before the boat went over an unseen waterfall. Flint managed to keep afloat and marveled as he entered a new cavern, more magnificent than the last. It was lit up by sparkling jewels overhead and a faint dusting of a white glittery powder. Here was the untouched Kansas sky on a moonless night, crisp and clear, endless as the prairie. The current carried the boat to a sandy shore, where Flint disembarked, dragging the hull a few feet out of the water. Best to be prepared in case he needed it again.

All thoughts changed when he saw the parka half-buried in the sand a few feet from where he landed. "Alison!" He scrambled forward, having about as much success as Lady Jaye and Wolf. Each push forward was met by equal force pulling him back. It didn't matter; he'd trudge all day if he had to. Dropping down, Flint's disappointment was palpable when his hand tore away the jacket and was met with empty sand. "Argh!" his frustration echoed off the walls and faded out over the water. It was as if the place was teasing him, leading him on a never-ending quest. He stood up, tugging at an imaginary beret when he spied it, or rather them—faint impressions of shuffle marks in the sand, leading away from the beach. _Lead me on my love to the place we will haunt_.

* * *

Wolf exhaled a sigh of release as the pain in his shoulder subsided. Rotating it, he felt relieved he reset it correctly. Standing up, he now was ready to defend his ground. He figured he could hold the demis off long enough to give Lady Jaye a fighting chance. Together, he would have only slowed her down with his shoulder. Now she could at least have a shot. He hated how he did it, but it had to be done. She wasn't going to leave unless he gave her a reason.

Wolf waited for the demis to pounce. He sensed them just beyond in the shadows, waiting and biding their time. He could wait too. He had done a lot of waiting in his life; this was nothing new. "Come out and fight like the men you were!" he bellowed.

Nothing.

"Come out and fight!" He clenched his fists to his side, his heart surging in his chest. He was ready to fight and to die. He'd rather die than face Lady Jaye again. After what he said, he knew she would never trust him, how could she. He made certain of that.

"Fight me you cowards!"

A piercing cry cut through his mind, slicing all thoughts in half with its fury. Wolf was shoved off his feet and his head pounded against the back wall as deep claws dug into the tender flesh of his arms. Wolf gritted his teeth and kicked his legs upward, kneeing the creature, who let out another burst of broiling wrath. Rolling away from the wall, Wolf missed a blow to his head by mere centimeters. Barely having time to catch his breath, Wolf pushed off the ground and pounced on the creature's back, scrapping and tearing at its scales. Screeches clouded Wolf's thinking, the creature slammed its back repeatedly against the rocks in an effort to dislodge Wolf. Wolf hung on. He had a death wish and fought without care to his body or mind. As long as he kept the creature occupied, she had time. He needed to buy time.

Wolf pulled and pried, succeeding in ripping a large scale from the demi's back, muscles and tendons hanging like wet steaming streamers from the dense shell. The demi sunk to its feet, ripping at Wolf's legs wrapped around its torso. Ignoring the pain of a million knives cutting his skin, Wolf dug into the opening, his heart a blackened mass of anger and rage. He would tear this thing apart with his bare hands, bit by bit. There was no one to stop him, no one to remind him of his humanity. Humanity meant nothing to what he had become, the heavy hand of wrath unleashed.

The demi lay expired at his feet. Wolf threw his head back and let out a cackle of the insane, wiping the creature's insides against the pants of his flight suit. Dark green streaks formed a kind of war paint down his sides and Wolf pushed his hair back, "Who else? Who else!"

In the heat of the moment, Wolf failed to take stock of the demi he had just defeated. It was of average height and build, for a demi, and Wolf, given his height, had some leverage. The demi that now appeared before him, ready to meet his challenge, was of another species entirely. Twice Wolf's height, the creature stooped over, its head dragging against the rocks above, leaving a small trail of pebbles in its wake. Wolf felt his courage dissipate like a fine smoke into the air. The demi's eyes flashed brightly, it had found easy prey. Wolf swallowed down his pride and took off down the other tunnel, leading the demi away from Lady Jaye.

* * *

Lady Jaye tore down the corridor, her view hazy and dim from the tears streaming down her face. _Damn you Rezo, damn you_. She couldn't believe he was a monster. It was impossible. He had saved her, several times over. If he wanted to eliminate her, why help her through this hell? She had to believe that he was good. If he wasn't good, then what did that say about her?

She stopped running, her body doubled over, hands on knees, as her gasping and wheezing subsided. Placing a hand to her lips, she could sense his still. There was no denying her response to his touch. How could she be so wrong? _You honestly think my father did it all on his own?_ His voice rang through her head. That wasn't him. He was good. _I'm the faster runner._ No, it couldn't be. She pressed her fists against her temples.

"Three!"

Wolf's voice roared past her ears, jolting her out of her stupor. She took off again. She believed in Wolf, she had to believe that he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Flint trekked across the subterranean desert following the path cleared out before him until it stopped and he pitched head over heels, tumbling down the side of the dune. Landing in a heap, Flint spat sand out of his mouth and tapped the side of his head to shake the loose granules out of his hair. He knew he was going to be shaking sand out of his ears for a few weeks. It was like going to the beach, somehow the sand never let you leave.

His thoughts were interrupted by the grandiose façade rising before him. Standing up, patting off more sand, Flint followed a sand trail into the structure. Once inside, Flint was met by bare sparkling walls bathing him in a golden hue. Reaching out, his fingers grazed down smooth marble inlaid with glowing, gold fissures, which illuminated what should otherwise be a dank, dark place. Letting out a low whistle, Flint could only imagine the cost if his mom ever wanted to redo the kitchen counters with this material. It was too bad he couldn't get some samples to take home on his next visit.

His eyes adjusted to the glow and he took in the expanse. It had to be a church of some sort. Directly in front of him stood an alter composed of the same material as the walls. Gathered in two perfect rows beyond were pews. On one side were magnificent frescos of the stations of the cross and on the other something from the Crusades designed to impress and humble. He couldn't help but think that Lady Jaye would have liked to spend some time viewing the pictures. On their one trip to Rome she had practically spent an entire day in St. Peter's staring at some murals. In fact, it had been an entire day and would have been longer if the guard didn't suggest that they wrap it up. Walking forward, the pews were angled slightly so that the center aisle appeared as the shaft to an arrow, pointing to another doorway in Flint's line of sight. Flint knew better than to question his next move, and with one last look, he marched forward, never noticing the two dark entrance ways on either side in the middle of the church.

As he expected, he followed more tunnels and more paths, each blending into the next until he was certain he had made a full circuit. Even then, he couldn't be entirely sure. But he knew he had made some progress when he hit what appeared at first to be a dead end so camouflaged were the off-shooting tunnels that he had almost given up and turned back. More on a whim, he turned right and managed to progress about a foot when his foot stepped into something squishy and not all that pleasant on the ground. Rubbing his foot vigorously on the dirt, Flint shuddered at encountering another one of those putrid bone piles. He had no idea what they were but he did know it would take a lot to make him continue on that path. Turning around, he decided to see what the left path held in store.

* * *

Wolf ran as if he had nothing left, the demi hot on his heels. In being so monstrous, the demi experienced some difficulty navigating the tunnel and Wolf used the delay to put time and distance between he and the creature. The creature roared, its voice ricocheting off the rocks and dirt, enveloping Wolf in a sonic boom and propelling him forward. Wolf scrambled to his feet and kept going, never looking back. The hot sweat dripping down his neck was enough of a reminder of the creature's presence.

Wolf hit a wide-open stretch, equally full of thanks and dread. More room meant more maneuverability and an opportunity to lengthen his stride, but so too would the demi have that advantage as well. Thinking that it was now or never, Wolf hit another gear and blasted forward, his boots crunching hard and fast on the dirt floor, which reverberated with each pounce of the demi. Arms pumping, eyes on the prize, Wolf could see light, quite literally, at the end of the tunnel. If he could get the demi to follow him, maybe he stood a chance.

Jogging backward, Wolf yelled at the demi and taunted it, calling it names his mother made him promise long ago as a young boy to never say. He thought she would understand. The demi snarled and leaped forward, a claw catching part of Wolf's flight suit and sending the man whirling a few feet down the path, hitting a wall, and skidding to a stop. The demi lifted its arms into the air and let out a massive growl, saliva dripping down its teeth, puddling on the floor. Wolf reached deep down into his faith, made the sign of the cross and gave it everything he had. It was a race to the unknown, the demi biting at his heels. Wolf dove toward the light praying for a miracle. His wish was granted. The demi plowed ahead and lunged at Wolf, wrapping a hand around his leg. The light hit the demi's arm and it began to sizzle and steam. The creature released its grip and began to thrash around the tunnel emitting an unearthly racket. Wolf cupped his hands over his ears, screaming to keep the creature's torment out of his head. He felt if he listened for even a moment he would go down with it. The creature crumpled to the ground, its skin smoking and burning away, its life gone.

Wolf took a moment to catch his breath and gathered himself up on shaky legs. Looking around, he knew he had reached the end of his journey. He knew this place; it was where he had started, the cave where his plane was. Walking around the fighter jet's wreckage, Wolf was aghast. How he survived, he couldn't fathom. Nothing remained of the plane's fuselage but a few sheets of blackened metal. One wing was crumpled in and folde on top of the body, the other lay mangled a few feet away. Joints appeared fused and melted by the intense heat of the crash. The cockpit was little more than a space an arm's length wide having been crushed by the impact. Wolf felt woozy and leaned forward against the plane to steady himself. It was more shock then anything. He supposed this is what it must feel like for survivors to go back to the accident scene, a truly gruesome accident scene, and realize that they are still alive. They shouldn't be alive, but they defied the odds. He had defied the odds. It didn't add up. Looking at the crash, no one could have walked away. It was like he was being given a second chance. It was a second chance he didn't deserve, but he knew someone who did.

_Alison_. He bent down and kissed his plane, muttering a small prayer of attrition. Straightening up, he set his shoulders back and mentally prepared himself for the next step. He would make things right. He ran out of the cave and prayed he was not too late.

* * *

Lady Jaye slowed down to a jogging pace. Up ahead the tunnel took on a faint glow and, as she came around a bend, she saw it was an entrance to another chamber. "Great, just great," her frustration was taking hold, "What's it going to be this time? Trolls to chew out my stomach? Chickens to stab me with a knife? What do you want from me?" Her exclamation quieted down to a whisper, "What do you want?" It would be easier if she could just crack like a vase thrown to the ground. But she never would; it wasn't in her. She could moan and complain with the best of them, but when it came down to putting your cards on the table, she would endure. It was why she ran from Wolf instead of staying, she endured. It's why she wandered these tunnels and would do so until she had no breath left. It was why, even if Flint was dead, she would survive.

She stopped, closing her eyes and focused on her breathing, taking long slow intakes of air, clearing her thoughts, _Dash, I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry. _She let those thoughts fade and braced herself for the next part of the journey, alone.

Striding forward, she kept her hands at waist level, prepared to defend against anything that could rush at her. She felt positive so at least it wouldn't be any of the demis lying in wait. Whatever it was, she didn't need Wolf or Flint to save her. She would save herself.

_Ok, now or never_, she set her chin and cautiously stepped through the arched entrance and stopped, awe-struck by its simple splendor. Arising up on either side of the entrance and spanning the length of the room were stately golden marble Solomonic columns, delicate and airy, with their shafts twisting in a tight spiral. Carved into the marble were vines and roots rising high into Corinthian capitals at least fifty feet in the air. From her vantage point, the elaborate capitals were the flowers and treetops of the columns below. The floor was tiled in the same marble. Crouching down, the floor was smooth but warm. The golden fissures were like little rivers, pulsating and beating with a rhythm she could feel through the tips of her fingers. The floor glowed and sparkled. If it was in a dance club she would have found it annoying. Here, it was reassuring and calming. She had an idea what this place was but it wasn't confirmed until she glanced up and saw the dais at the top of the room.

Stepping up, there was a small raised podium on the dais, made of one continuous piece of wood. Lady Jaye didn't know enough to type it. Her natural instinct was to say oak, but she didn't even know if that would be a native tree to Georgia. It seemed that anything this solid had to be oak. She walked around the podium, admiring the pastoral relief carved into the wood of sheep, meadowlands, and puffy clouds floating on a midsummer's breeze. Completing the circle, she noticed the book on the podium. It was leather bound with creamy yellow velum pages. She was afraid to touch it for fear a fragile page would disintegrate from her contact. Yet she was drawn to it in a way she couldn't explain. Flipping through the pages was history as she would never imagine. And then she reached the last page. It took only a moment, but in that instant she knew, "I will sign."


	31. The Book

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Shepherd's Pass**

**Chapter 31: The Book**

Looking down at the page, Lady Jaye felt she had done the right thing. With the words stated, there was nothing left to do but follow through. To the side of the book was what had to be a pen made of stone. It was a smooth cylinder carved out of the same stone that lined most of the caves and tunnels that had lead her here. There were no markings or detail to it. It was a simple tool for a simple task. Picking it up, Lady Jaye turned it over in her hand, wondering what it would be like. Biting her bottom lip, it was now or never. She touched pen to paper.

"Alison, stop!"

Lady Jaye looked up toward the voice she knew so well, "Flint? What? How . . . how? Wha. . . you're here!" Clutching the pen, her hand, shaky, remained poised above the pages.

"Ali, you have to stop, don't do it." Flint rushed past the columns into full view. As he came into range, he debated his next move. To him it was like negotiating with a gunman. One wrong move and there would be nothing left. He had to get her to step away. They would figure out the rest afterward. Even if he had to be stuck in this place for the rest of eternity, he would do it.

"Dash, it's okay. I chose."

"No honey, you didn't. Please, please just step away."

"I can't; it's done."

"No, it's not." Flint felt his heart sink in his chest. He had to believe that it wasn't done. In fact, if Giorgi was right, there was one thing he could do. He would. "Me. I'll sign." His eyes darted around the room as he braced his body for the next part. He wasn't sure what would happen next, how it would go down. Would they magically trade places or would he be given the chance to hold her one last time? To feel her lips and touch her skin, all he wanted was one more moment. Time froze in one long agonizing minute. He tried again, "Please, take me instead. I'll sign." He glanced back at Jaye and became mute. He knew that look; he knew that face. She had this way of being sad and grateful all at once. Her eyes were bright but the resignation was bubbling beneath in the slight glassy look they now had. Her smile, it was softer too, not as open, closed, bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. God, how he longed to kiss those lips and forget the whole world. She was shaking her head side to side. What did she do? "What baby, what?"

"It won't work Dash." She tilted her head down, willing her body to obey her brain and not her heart. She felt her face start to crumple up; it was betraying her. All she wanted to do was remain strong. It was a lie to say she would survive without Flint. Who was she fooling? She would exist, but it wouldn't be surviving. No this, this was best.

"It has to. Giorgi said."

"I know. But it wasn't me Dash." Her brow furrowed and her lips drew together in a sort of apology. She waited.

Her words puzzled him. His mind wouldn't process the information; it refused to acknowledge the meaning of her statement. If it wasn't her, what was she doing there—it was unacceptable—he refused to let those thoughts creep in. He would take her place. That was the start and the end. There was no discussion. Flint took a hesitant step toward her, reaching out, trying to gesture her to come toward him. "Come on. We'll think of something."

"There's nothing else to do Dash. I volunteered." She looked tragic, yet peaceful. She accepted her choice and now expected the same from him, "I volunteered for you."

"What?" He clenched his jaw, taking an inadvertent step back. Her words sunk in but acquiescence wouldn't come so easily to him. Flint clenched his eyes shut trying to block out the onslaught of feelings and thoughts. He raged against the fate she decided. "No, Giorgi said. I don't understand." But the problem was, he did. He shook his head trying to clear it. "No." A million memories flooded his mind. There was their first encounter, she standing defiantly in front of that useless mini-tank—she was so sure and confident—he was all brawn and brain. He remembered their first time getting coffee together. Their knees kept threatening to touch under the miniscule piece of tile pretending to be a proper table. Every time he lifted his mug, the little table shook and shuddered causing the plates to teeter on the edge of falling off. The first time he dared to sneak a real kiss. How he caught her off guard he would never know. The second kiss, the fifth kiss, they all blended into each other. He couldn't remember the specifics but he was deftly familiar with the emotions. In a blink of an eye it seemed they had gone from awkward silence to a comfortable noise. And now to see her standing there, what was it all for? He was supposed to save her. He was supposed to give his life for hers. His voice betrayed him, plaintive and humble, "Why Ali?"

"Because, because I love you." Finally they were on the same page. All their fights and slights meant nothing now. Stripped down to their basic selves, there was only love. Each one felt that realization but the taste was bittersweet. It took too long. It came too late.

"There has to be another way."

"You know the answer to that."

"No. We can think of something. There's a way."

The sad resignation remained, "There's no other way. You know it. I love you Dash, never forget." Her voice broke down, "Just, be happy." In her heart, it was time. She didn't have the will to debate him any longer. Her resolve was fading fast.

Flint's resolve was only growing stronger. He would take her place if it meant standing before God himself. If he couldn't talk her down, "Then I defy you stars." He ran full-speed at the podium and his body recoiled back from impact with an invisible force. He picked himself up and charged again. He slammed his body into the wall, flying back a few feet from the collision. It was the charge of the Light Brigade. Defeated, "Ali." He reached for her. She extended an arm. Their palms reflected off of each other through the empty air. This possibility, this reality, was something he never would have imagined. It was too late.

"It's not too late."

The words came from a voice belonging neither to Flint nor Lady Jaye. Both directed their attention to Wolf as he strode into view behind Flint. Wolf looked at Flint and gave a silent nod. He addressed Lady Jaye, "Alison, it seems we made a mistake. You should have gone right and I left."

"Rezo?" She was confused.

"I reached the end of the tunnel and realized I was on the wrong path. It was your path." Wolf looked up and announced, "I will sign." His eyes took in Lady Jaye, a sly smile across his face.

Lady Jaye looked down and saw the ink fade and swell where she had been about to sign. Instead of her name, the letters reformed into Rezo's name, just as her name had replaced Flint's. Then it dawned on her, "Rezo, no." She shook her head, fearful, "No, what did you do? This wasn't for you. You had a chance."

"Chance? Chance at what? There was no chance if it meant you'd be a casualty. No, this is where I was meant to be. It was me all along. If it wasn't for me. . ." he paused, if it wasn't for him, they would never be in that cave about to say their final goodbye, he shuddered at the thought, "You both became involved in something you never should have." He approached her, holding out his hand to take the pen from her grasp.

She would not part with it so easily, holding out some hope that in not relinquishing the object, she could stave off the inevitable.

Wolf gripped her hand, using his strength to gently loosen her fingers. "Come now." He moved his hand under her elbow to guide her away from the book. Lady Jaye complied, still in a daze from the change of circumstances. She had prepared herself for the end, but she was not prepared for his. Her body moved mechanically against her will. As she stepped down, the jolt of foot to ground snapped her back. She gasped as she pitched forward, losing her balance. Wolf was there to steady her and break her fall. He helped her regain her balance and stood before her, his hands on either arm. He slid them down to her hands, gripping them in his.

Flint called upon all his self-control to stand there and wait, calm, patient. He felt like an intruder to an intimate conversation. The words Lady Jaye spoke to the man were foreign. He guessed Russian, but without someone yelling perestroika or glasnost, he couldn't be sure. He didn't know who this man was but he understood the gift he brought. Lady Jaye would explain. That's all he needed. He would keep it together.

"Alison," Wolf's voice almost sang her name, "please forgive me, but you know I must do this."

"But Rezo, you can't. How could you?"

"Because," he pulled her hands together, placing them above his heart, raising them to his mouth, where he laid a short kiss, and then holding them to his chest, "you have saved me and made me a man again. I could exist only because of you. Without you, there could be no me. There's a man over there who loves you as you do him. You are meant to be together. If I can do that, I can ask for nothing more."

"But."

"Shhhh, please, no buts. Know this. I," Wolf stopped. The tears in her eyes crushed him. He knew if he said anything more, it wouldn't be fair. What he desired would not be. He would not interject himself into the rest of her life. She needed to move on and never regret, never have that in the back of her mind. "I have a shot at redemption. Please."

Lady Jaye was not naïve. There was only one way to take someone's place in the book. She knew. She squeezed his hands back, eternally grateful for his sacrifice. She would let him take it in dignity. She nodded her head once. He understood. Her lower lip quivered as their eyes met. Blinking, a tear trailed down her cheek. He reached across and wiped it away, his hand remaining on her chin. Tracing the contours of her lips, he decided to grant himself one last indulgence and leaned down to gently place a kiss. It was short enough so as not to offend the man standing but a few feet away. Wolf assumed he had a little leeway. He grabbed her hands again. "Don't cry. Don't weep for me. You must go and be strong for both of us."

She held on to him tightly. Words failed her.

"Now go." He nudged her in the direction of Flint and took a step toward the book before pausing, "I'm sorry for what I said. I never meant to hurt you. I am not my father." He exhaled, the weight lifting off his chest. His mouth then curled up in a half grin. "But I still believe I am the faster runner."

Lady Jaye smiled and stepped away, wiping at her eyes. As she backed into Flint's awaiting arms, Wolf gave a short nod of respect to Flint. Turning, he swallowed hard and faced his name, staring up at him. It was time.

Silent tears flowed down Lady Jaye's face. Flint stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Reaching up with her right hand, she clutched one of his arms, pulling it tight against her chest. There they stood.

The book began to glow. Wolf longed to have more time to study this link between the living tales of his country and the countless ancestral names spelled out on its creamy pages. Even the podium upon which the book perched was a marvel. The solid wood was carved with scenes and symbols similar to those he found in the cave of the living, as he had come to think of it. Touching the stand, he found that the wood felt softer and smoother than any substance he had ever touched. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her, standing there next to Flint. Part of him was glad she was nearby—a reassurance that he was doing the right thing. The other part of him wanted desperately to be alone. It seemed like such a private act. He didn't know what was about to happen and part of him wanted to experience it on his own, free to be as brave or as cowardly as necessary.

Taking a quick intake of breath, his body stiffened in anticipation as he plunged the pen down and scribbled his name. Wolf waited, an eternity passed, nothing happened. Opening his eyes, he looked around the room for a sign, a message that he had done things right. It all looked the same. The doubts crept in. Maybe it had all been for naught. There was no book to sign; there was no place to take. It was just a story told to entertain. But that meant there was no her. That meant his life was meaningless in the end. He thought of leaving the room, but found his feet were firmly planted in place. A warm tingling sensation began in his feet and quickly worked its way up his legs, burning by the time it reached his thighs. Looking down, the dais underneath him radiated and pulsed, the image becoming blurry like an out-of-focus photograph. His hands, arms, were useless as well. He was paralyzed and he knew it had begun. The sensation spread like wildfire through his body. He wanted to cry out but his mouth burned with the pain. When judgment came, it came swift. Redemption was out of reach.

Lady Jaye gasped in horror as flames shot out from the base of the dais and began to consume Wolf as if he was standing on a fiery bier. She screamed and attempted to run forward, but Flint was quick, and held her back.

"No, no, no," she cried, facing away from the sight. She buried her head in Flint's shoulder, clutching him to keep from falling.

Flint held her tight, his hand circling her head, blocking her view. "Don't look baby, don't look." Flint felt he had no choice but to watch. Wolf became a living skeleton, the flesh burned off his bones until even his bones smoked and charred, and Wolf stood there, alive, nothing but ash, until the ash crumbled to the ground into a small pile of dust. That too appeared to melt away down into the floor until there was nothing more, as if he never existed.

Flint gripped Lady Jaye tight but couldn't help but to tremble himself. He didn't know the man but after what he did, he didn't deserve that fate. He buried his face into Lady Jaye's hair, anguished at the thought it could have been her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her with unbridled need. To have lost her, to have lost her like this, it was all too much. No poet before him could ever express with any eloquence the bittersweet relief he experienced as she returned his kiss with equal fervor.

The two remained locked in their embrace until Lady Jaye pulled her head away to look back. She became frantic, "Flint, he didn't deserve this. He was a good man. He saved me. That has to count for something. He saved me." She broke away from Flint, staggering under the strain of her emotions. She was furious at the Shepherd, "How dare you," she screamed to the shadows. "He was a good man! He was a good man!" She turned an enraged eye to the book and before Flint could stop her, she rushed at it, determined to tear it apart page by page.

As she reached the front of the podium, a force pushed her back, and she fell to the ground, sobbing, all will gone. Flint stooped down to comfort her, but stopped, transfixed by a soft glow emanating from the dais. Lady Jaye noticed it too and starred, mouth agape, hoping against hope. The glow brightened and expanded, tiny particles visible in the light. They rose up, bobbing and weaving, forming a bright pillar, roughly the shape of a man.

"Rezo?" Lady Jaye murmured.

The shape shimmered and flickered brightly for a moment. Lady Jaye exhaled, overcome with an all-encompassing feeling of peace. It was the cessation of suffering, the end of distress, a sort of nirvana. Flint felt it too and placed a hand on her shoulder, his attention entirely captured by the vision in front. The particles glimmered and bobbled once more before floating up on an invisible wind, winding into a pillar of light, cutting through the ceiling above and then, it was gone.

Flint reached down and assisted Lady Jaye to her feet. Her eyes remained transfixed above as she explained what had happened to Flint, "His name was Rezo, Rezo Makashvili." She felt Flint's tension, "Yes, Giorgi's son. He was the pilot I shot down." She turned to Flint, "Giorgi isn't the man we thought, I thought he was. He betrayed everyone. I'm sorry, I should have seen it."

"Don't you apologize for something we all did."

"I spent the most time with him. I never thought to question where he got his information, how he knew what he did."

"Never mind. None of us did. We need to get back though and tell the others."

Lady Jaye nodded in agreement. They needed to get "home," but how to do so. There was one thing first, "Dash, I know how it looks. Rezo was with Cobra. That much is going to be known, but he wasn't like that. It was duty for him, an obligation he couldn't refuse. I can't, I won't, I won't betray him like that. He had a good heart." Here she paused. Flint was a by-the-book soldier. What she needed him to do, what she would ask of him, went against his moral code. She would ask anyway, "He should be known as a hero, not a villain."

Flint understood and bowed his head, "Good men must die but death cannot kill their name. We should thank god that such men lived." Flint returned Lady Jaye's stare, "His name will never be tarnished as long as I live." Lady Jaye squeezed Flint's hand in gratitude. But Flint wasn't done. To him, Rezo deserved more, "When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun."

"Shakespeare, thank you."

Flint took Lady Jaye up in his arms and held her close. He would be the first to admit that it wasn't without a little jealousy that he thought of Lady Jaye and Rezo. What transpired between the two, he would never ask; he'd wait and in time, Lady Jaye would tell him. But given what had happened, there was one thing for which he could no longer wait. He kissed the top of her head and pulled her away, clenching her hands within his. She looked at him, puzzled. Taking a gulp, it was now, "Alison, I've been waiting for the right . . ."

He was cut off midsentence by sudden tremor in the cave that knocked the two to the floor. The cavern began to shake and rumble, pieces of stone crashed down from the ceiling, smashing upon contact with the hard ground. "Look out!" Flint launched forward, dragging Lady Jaye toward the exit as one of the slender columns cracked in two, the top portion landing with an enormous thunder, shattering in bits and pieces where she had just been. Lady Jaye grabbed at her heart, staring in shock.

"Move!" Flint grabbed her hand and bolted for the exit, the tunnel leading to the chamber no more a safe haven than where they had just been. The two dashed down the tunnel until they reached the intersection, Flint turning to run back the way he had come.

"No," Lady Jaye pulled him toward the unknown, "this way."

Flint shook his head, "I don't know about that."

"This is the way Rezo went. Trust me."

Flint looked her in the eye and saw determination and resolve there. He would follow. They skirted around the demi's remains and ducked and dodged as the tunnel collapsed around them. They reached the second demi and Flint wanted to gag. The putrid smell was overwhelming. Lady Jaye kept moving and gasped out loud as she entered the cave where she had started her journey. "Dash, up there" she pointed, "that's where I fell."

"Well I'll be." For once, he was speechless. About a football field above was a gaping hole and the unmistakable clear blue sky just beyond.

Pacing the perimeter, Lady Jaye felt the same frustration experienced before. Stuck at the same spot, would the cave let her go? There was only one way to find out. "Dash, give me a boost." Flint cupped his hands together and assisted her as she propelled herself up, starting the long climb to the top. She passed the point where the rocks had all snapped and held her breath as a small outcrop help. "Dash, it's working."

"Don't need to tell me twice, right behind you." Flint started to climb and soon reached her location. With a wink and a smile, he started to climb a little faster, "Race you to the top."

"Flint!" She sucked in her bottom lip, a challenge then. Flint already had a half of length lead on her. The walls shuddered faintly, the effects of whatever was happening. Lady Jaye imagined now that the book had judged, it was seeking to expel those who still lived. The quaking and shaking became more pronounced; she clung to the wall, desperate to hang on. It then hit her, a feeling of being there and not, she felt faint and dizzy, the edges of her body blurred. Holding an arm in front of her face, she could see the faint outline of rocks behind it. "Flint?"

Flint had reached the top and was in the process of swinging a leg over the side to get a better angle to haul her up. At the sound of his name, he looked down and saw the blood flow out of Lady Jaye's face and it frightened him. "Come on soldier, move it, move it." Figuring he would have the most leverage hanging down over the side, he braced his hands against the wall, and swung his other foot over. Overcompensating, he felt the ground give way and it was as if the opening was a tube and he was now sliding down the outside of it, no friendly ground to break his fall. The momentum picked up and it was a freefall into blackness, his body flailing in nothingness. "Alison!" A tether yanked him down, ever faster until he hit bottom.

Lady Jaye saw Flint disappear over the side and out of her view, "Flint?" she cried, "Flint!"


	32. The place of civil twilight

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, Shepherd's Pass**

**Chapter 32: The place of civil twilight**

Pain racked Flint's body. His head was on fire. Blinking his eyes, he tried to process the bits of light filtering in. He saw red, lots of red. A tinny whistle buzzed in his ears. His body was a deflated balloon and he was slowly filling out the contours. As each appendage came back on line it was a new hurt assaulting his brain. He teetered on the edge. With one word, with one wish, he could let go and fall for ever more. There was some attraction to this. All the pain, all the hurt, gone with the sweet release to oblivion.

The buzzing evened out and words formed in his head. "We're losing him." "He's coming back." He imagined he was the subject of the lines but the actions were meaningless. "He's stabilizing." What did stabilizing mean? His thoughts floated on the periphery. "She's going into arrest."

His eyes snapped open with a start.

A voice, a familiar voice, "Jaye! Hang on Jaye. Red, paddles." Flint came to, the limp, pale body of Jaye a foot away, the concerned face of Lifeline flittering about. The redness was attached to another body, that kid medic Duke liked to tease. The kid saw Flint and smiled, "Hang on Sir, we're going to get you out of here."

Flint thrashed his head about, no, this wasn't right. Sitting up, he watched in horror as Lifeline yelled, "Clear!" Jaye's sweater was ripped open, her eyes closed, she was fading. He didn't know why he knew, he just did. He knew that if Lifeline used the AED, it would be too much for Jaye and he'd lose her, forever. It wasn't cardiac arrest that she was experiencing; it was the pull between the caves and here, between life and death. She needed to fight it, just not like this. Flint had to get back to her.

With a yell, Flint, like a man possessed, lunged at Lifeline—grabbing the paddles and applying them to his chest as the charge was released—found himself falling back to where he was, the white snow cushioning the blow, his body dangling on the edge of the hole, reaching out to Lady Jaye, who was yelling his name.

Flint's head suddenly reappeared and there he was, lowering his arms down, reaching for her. The spasms rocking her body vanished and she reached up, her fingers brushing against his. Flint grabbed them and started to pull her up, hand, by wrist, by arm, finally under her shoulders, careful to always have some part in the hole. Planting her firmly on the side, Flint sat next to her, legs hanging over the side.

Lady Jaye didn't question Flint's motives and remained next to him in silence. They sat there on the edge of the precipice, feet dangling over the blackness. One move either way would determine their fate. Lady Jaye stared down the hole. The simplicity of emotion in the cave was replaced by the uncertainty of now. Then, there was no doubt. A decision had to be made and she made it. She glanced at the man beside her. He was studying her intently; his face serious and calm. It was strangely calm. She wanted to scream out and he was as serene as a chapel fresco. "So what . . ."

"Now?"

She nodded her head.

He reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. The light surrounding them was the distinct illumination of just after dusk, when stars were at their brightest and the inventions of man were not necessary to see. A crisp wind blew, yet Flint felt no chill. They were buffered between worlds.

She turned back to the hole but didn't withdraw her hand. "This doesn't change things."

"It doesn't?"

Was it surprise, an element of hurt in his tone? She couldn't be certain. She just knew that she couldn't go back to where they were before. She loved him. She couldn't deny that. Her heart had spoken on that subject. But her head wouldn't be so complicit to follow her heart blindly into the fray once more. "It can't go back to that."

"It won't be that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I won't lose you again, not because of me." He reached across the space between them and cupped her chin in his hand, "My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, and true plain hearts do in the faces rest; where can we find two better hemispheres, without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mixed equally; if our two loves be one, or, thou and I love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die." As he spoke the last word, Flint leaned into her and pressed his lips against hers, sealing his vow with a kiss. Lady Jaye returned his kiss and their lips parted, forehead against forehead, waiting for breath to return. "I am but a man and I will fall but I promise," he squeezed her hand tighter, "it will not be without a fight. I will fight for you, always." He backed away, looking out across the terrain, snow whirled around them but Flint paid it no heed. "You do have a choice."

"Choice?" She was still dazed.

"Do you remember what happened, how you got here?"

"Just bits and pieces really. The more I try to think about it, the more it gets jumbled in my head. The jeep crashed. You were hurt." The thought of him, helpless and passed out in the snow, jabbed at her heart, "I went to get help and then I fell here." She pointed down at the hole. "That's where I met Rezo."

"I don't think you fell."

"I don't understand."

"Something happened to us, to Rezo. We're here but we're also still there, at the crash site. This place has a power we can't comprehend, but it gives us a choice."

"There's that choice."

"You have the choice to decide. You can go back or go on." The words choked in his throat. "Ali, you were in bad shape. It might be easiest for you to go on. I can't see you in pain; I can't lose you . . ."

"Shhh," Lady Jaye placed a light kiss on his lips, silencing the man from any more talk, "There's no choice Dash, you know that. As long as we have a chance together, that's the only decision to be made. I'm going back, with you." They kissed again; almost giddy and drunk on the emotions they shared.

Flint knew, however, that it would be a rough road ahead, "I went back just now. I think it has to do with losing the connection to here. But when I went back, the pain, the agony, it was almost too much for me to process. You've been gone much longer. It's going to be infinitely harder for you to hold on, but promise me, you'll hang on. I can't lose you. Not again. Not now. I need you to fight, to fight with everything you have. Promise me you'll fight. You won't be alone. I'm right there next to you. Even if you can't see me, or hear me, just know it."

Lady Jaye soaked in his words, they were nonsensical and yet she had a perfect understanding. "I'll fight. I promise. Just don't leave me alone."

"Babe, I won't." The decision was made and they both knew it was time to go. Starring into each other's eyes one last time, Flint took Lady Jaye into his arms. Part of Lady Jaye wished they could remain there forever between the two worlds where time and the complications of life could not reach them. The only interference came from the buffeting snow piling around their bodies, creating a cocoon. Life beckoned though.

Flint leaned forward, pulling her tight against his chest and drinking of her lips as he pulled his leg from the drop. Instantly, his body was jarred and pitched by an unseen force. He struggled to maintain his grip, but she was wrenched away from his arms. The blackness was everywhere and he only had the same sensation of falling too fast until the air was punched out of his lungs and he found himself gazing up into the same afternoon sky, the worried face of Lifeline peering down at him. He fought against the desire to sink into oblivion to cast a glance to his side. She was there just beyond his reach. Medics hovered about her desperately applying their craft.

She found herself falling ever faster like a skydiver without a chute. The feeling was not at all pleasant and she knew she'd be sick once the ride stopped. With a jarring halt, she crashed into her body, her two parts meshing into one. Flint's words did little to prepare her for the shock of coming back. To say it hurt was to comment that a category five hurricane was just a storm. There were knives stabbing into her head, seeking to separate it from the rest of her body. Her arms and legs were unresponsive so consumed in fire. It was all too much and she felt herself slipping away. The invisible cords that tied her spirit to the corporeal were stretched and snapping, her mind a weight in the middle, pulling it all down. _Pling!_ went each string as it snapped, sending her lower and lower until she was falling away, the world above, the unknown below.


	33. You can always go home

**December 25, 1991: ?**

**Chapter 33: You can always go home**

Lady Jaye found herself on a beach again. Somehow it always seemed to be a beach. But this beach she knew; this was home. Strolling down the shore, it was intimately familiar to her as her own face in the mirror. Home. The Vineyard. It had been too long. The salty air filled her lungs, soothing her mind. Turning left, the path was there as it always had been, home.

Unlatching the gate, she trudged the last few cobbled steps to the front porch where her dad sat on the swing, reading the paper and drinking coffee. It was a Sunday then. Looking up, he tipped down his glasses, beaming at the sight of her. "Bean," he exclaimed, patting on the wood next to where he sat, "I didn't expect you so soon."

She couldn't explain the painful lump that rose up in her throat at the sound of his nickname for her. When she was but a speck in her mom's tummy, in trying to describe what she looked like to her older brother, who was quite suspicious of the turn his life was about to take, her dad said she was just a bean. Bean stuck. Fighting against the swell of emotions, she plopped down next to him, leaning back to rest her head on the back of the swing. The sun was making its daily traverse across the sky. Fluffy white clouds perched on threads of blue; it was going to be a beautiful day.

They swung back and forth in companionable silence until her father vocalized her thoughts, as he always could, "I always told you, you could come home. Where ever you were, whatever was happening, you could come home. We'd always be here for you."

"But then you weren't." She brushed a tear away, fuzzy memories playing in the back of her mind. It was silly to say her father wasn't there. He was always there.

"I know things haven't always been easy on you Beanie. Sometimes maybe it didn't seem like you had a home, but we are always there, waiting." He touched his heart, folding up the newspaper and setting it to the side. A sip of coffee, and he continued, "We're here too," he tapped the side of her head. "And here we are," a general flourish to the surroundings.

"But dad, where's here?"

"That's for you to decide Bean, only you."

She leaned against her dad, resting her head on his shoulder. The sounds of the waves crashing against the beach matched tempo to the rocking of the swing. It was easy to let go and escape into the rhythms of Vineyard life. Maybe she was home. Dishes crashing in the background and laughter caused her to jump, "Mom?" The appearance of voices and more merriment, "Oh god, Jimmy?" She turned back to her dad, "Mom and Jimmy are here?"

Her father placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, preventing her from rising and rushing inside, "Not so fast Beanie, not so fast. When I said only you could decide, I meant it. There are some things you need to consider. If you go inside, that's it, you can't go back."

She shook her head, of course she could come back.

"No Bean, not like that. I mean going back. You're going to hate me, but I didn't tell your mom or brother I thought you'd be here. It would be too much. I don't think any of you could handle it. You wouldn't go back, your mom would cry. But Bean, as much as I want you here—as much as we all need you and miss you so—I want you to experience everything you should. Love and loss, happiness and pain, all of it together in that great symphony that's beyond here. I can't tell you what to do; I can only say what I want." He rose up from the chair, picking up the newspaper, placing a kiss on top of her head, "There will be time enough for us. You made a promise to someone else though and I think you should keep it. But that's just me talking. You need to decide." Walking toward the door, he paused, "Remember, we're always here for you. The door's open. Whatever you do, I love you." And just like that, he disappeared inside, leaving her dumbfounded on the porch.

Rising up from the swing, all she felt was confusion. Go home, not go home, stay, go back, they were meaningless words when everything was right here. Standing in front of the door, her hand on the knob with the slow creak that never let anyone come in unannounced, and she stopped. She understood. She would fight. "I love you all," she whispered to the inhabitants inside, "but I'm not alone. We'll be back, together."

Stepping down from the porch, her shoes made a splash on the flagstone. Normally covered in sand that her mom was forever sweeping away, the stones were damp with puddles collecting in the indentations. The water crept up, reaching her ankles the closer she got to the gate. Once at the gate, the ocean was everywhere, no beach, no lighthouse, just water, water everywhere. Glancing back, the house was gone too, just the great expanse of the ocean remained. All that was left was the flagstone upon which she stood and the gate she clutched. She knew what she had to do. Letting go of the gate, she fell back into the water, sinking in its depths, the sunlight little arrows shooting at her through the misty sea. Sinking deeper and deeper, the coldness of the deep engulfed her and killed all light. Breathing in, she let go, and allowed the salty water to penetrate her lungs, shutting off her oxygen. She didn't thrash against it. She allowed the sea to take her, drifting off on tranquil waves until her body would take no more, and it fought back, violently coughing up the water and bringing pain and blinding light into her field of vision. Doubling over, she felt every wound, every hurt of the past day, but she felt something else, his hand. Blinking her eyes, there he was, looking down. His face washed in relief and joy. His hand on hers. She smiled through the tubes and fog. She kept her promise, she came back. Then, she fell back into unconsciousness, no dreams or nightmares to keep her company, just blackness.

"Ok, steady, steady, ease up gentleman." Lifeline's commanding voice rang out against the din. Monitoring the progress as the greenshirts loaded Lady Jaye into the waiting medevac helicopter for transport. Once he was satisfied, Lifeline turned to his other patient, grumpy. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Flint, sitting on the ground, holding an ice pack to his head while Red attended to some nasty burns on his chest merely shrugged. Lifeline began counting in his head. It was going to be at least a forty.


	34. The truthful man is always duped

**December 25, 1991: Greater Caucasus Mountains, former undisclosed Russian base in the Republic of Georgia **

**Chapter 34: The truthful man is always duped**

Radioing ahead of his arrival, Flint passed on word to Hawk of Giorgi's betrayal. Hawk was rather guarded on the call and Flint sensed something big had gone down in his absence. Once back at base, despite the ache in his head and the pain in his chest, Flint ignored Lifeline's plea to please take it easy and instead set forth on his errand.

"Giorgi!" Flint's voice bellowed through the concrete corridors. Slamming through the communications rooms double doors, Flint stood at the ready, scanning the room for some sign of the traitor. Flint's sudden arrival spooked Mainframe, who almost fell out of his seat.

"Mainframe, where's Giorgi?"

Mainframe gulped and pulled at an invisible collar, "Umm, I'm not sure Flint. He's being kept separate from everyone."

"What do you mean?" Flint's voice was harsh and demanding, "What happened?"

"Well, during the fight, Alpine and Bazooka noticed that the maintenance building didn't take any hits but went up anyway. Duke ordered them to investigate and they found a charge still receiving a radio signal. I traced the signal to Giorgi. He was taken under custody. He hasn't said anything but they suspect he was in with the snakes."

Flint looked down in disgust. How deep did the man's treachery go? He played them all. Eyes narrowed, Flint's stare bored through Mainframe, "Where is he?"

"I can't say."

Flint took a step closer and Mainframe scooted his chair back an inch or two, "He hurt Jaye."

"What? Oh man."

Flint sucked in some breath, trying to maintain his composure. Mainframe was in a tough spot but he needed to know. Glancing up at the security camera, Flint changed tactics on the fly, "Listen, I understand Hawk's orders. You don't have to tell me. Just let me know who would know."

Mainframe nodded his head. Gentle subversion was something he could handle. Heck, Ripcord, Lady Jaye, and he practiced the fine art on Beachhead all the time. He spun the chair to face the row of base close-circuit monitors. Resting an elbow on one of the feeds, he pointed down to the label with an index finger, "Maybe Duke might know something."

Flint nodded, "Thanks Mainframe. I appreciate it."

"No problem." Flint turned to leave, "Hey Flint?" Flint paused, "Bring her back to us."

Flint set his face, a mask of stone, "I will."

According to Mainframe, it looked like Giorgi was being detained in the former room the man had shared with Lady Jaye to pour over intelligence, the intelligence Giorgi no doubt tainted.

Expecting a greenshirt, Flint was surprised to come across Duke parked on a chair in front of the room. Duke tipped an imaginary cap to Flint, "Hey buddy, how you doing?"

"I'm fine Duke. I need to see Giorgi."

Duke shook his head, "I can't let you do that big guy. You know that."

Flint clenched his hands into two solid fists at his side, his fingers digging into his palms, "Please Duke, step aside and let me see Giorgi."

Duke maintained his cool, "Come on Dash. Don't do this. I know what happened. She wouldn't want this. Not worth it buddy. Just keep on walking."

Flint's rage started to bubble up in his chest and fight for control over his reason. He knew Lady Jaye would want him to stay away but he wasn't doing this for her. She would demand forgiveness. No, this was all for him. It was worth everything to him. "Duke, let me see Giorgi." He took a step forward, squaring his shoulders back. He'd fight to get in if necessary.

Leaning back in the chair, arms folded across his chest, Duke returned the stare. Flint could intimidate almost everyone on the team but Duke. Duke had seen the best and worst of his buddy and knew he could handle his own. When Flint ceased being able to control himself, Duke had no qualms about saving Flint from himself. Duke held his ground.

Flint placed another foot forward and stopped when a familiar hand was placed on his shoulder. "Flint, son, at ease."

"Hawk Sir." Flint's body was one massive wound machine. Despite never disobeying Hawk's orders before, he found he couldn't meet this one. At ease was the furthest place from his mind. He stayed standing where he was, but there was no ease about it.

"Duke, I think we should go for a walk."

"General?"

"Yes, there are a few things we need to go over for withdrawal. Come with me." Hawk motioned Duke up out of his chair.

Although the second in command seriously questioned Hawk's judgment at this point, he figured Hawk was prepared to deal with the body. "If you say so, Sir." Duke strode over to Hawk's side and cast a nervous glance at Flint's steaming form.

"Oh, and I think these should stay here." Hawk snapped a key ring from Duke's belt and tossed it onto the chair. "Come on Duke."

Shrugging, Duke followed Hawk down the corridor while Flint remained motionless. As their voices disappeared, Flint knew he only had so much time to make his point known. Grabbing the keys, he inserted one into the lock and flung the door open, startling Giorgi, who had been reclined on a make-shift cot in the corner away from the doorway.

Ignoring Giorgi's friendly greeting, Flint turned and locked the door. Locking down to his most basic self, Flint crossed the small room and picked up Giorgi by his lapels and threw him across the room.

Giorgi shrieked as his body slammed against the opposite wall. Curling up into a ball, Giorgi held a hand out against Flint's oncoming assault, "Please my friend, please, it is a mistake. They are mistaken." As Flint reached down to pick him up, Giorgi smiled through his injuries, "Please, as my friend, you will help me, no?"

Flint looked at the man in disgust, "I am not your friend," and tossed him into the cot, which collapsed under the force of Giorgi's accelerating mass. Rather than scramble to his feet, Giorgi cowered in fear, scampering away on hands and knees to escape Flint's oncoming justice. As Flint reached down again, Giorgi held up an arm in front of his face, tears streaming down, sobbing openly, "Please, please, don't, don't."

Flint held him up by his collar with his left hand and reached back with his right fist, ready to deck him. Giorgi scrunched his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for the inevitable. Flint stood there for a moment, enjoying the man's pain and fear. He wanted this man to hurt in a way he had never wished upon anyone else. Flint's first rule had always been to never make it personal. Once you got personal, you could get sloppy. Despite Duke's beliefs to the contrary, Flint usually followed this policy. There were exceptions, the Cobra Eel for one, but generally justice was delivered as it was deserved, no emotions, no ties. Not this time. He would relish every scream this man had left in his miserable body. This man deserved to die.

Flint then dropped Giorgi to the floor and backed away, body shaking. "Damn!" he punched against the wall, ignoring the traces of blood mixed into the pulverized plaster imprint. "God damn it!" He kicked the opposite wall, desperate to beat the thoughts out of his head. Duke was right, Alison would never want this. She would never want him to become a cold-hearted killer. As much as he longed to obliterate Giorgi's presence from this world, he could never face Alison afterward. She would forgive, but she would never forget. He would forever be that person to her. How much of her would he lose if he lost himself now? He slumped down to the floor, head in his hands. Hawk knew what he was doing.

Giorgi wisely decided to stay huddled against the opposite wall. He was thankful for the reprieve but didn't want to count his chickens. No, the best course was to let the big man figure it out.

Flint looked up at Giorgi, "Why?"

Giorgi figured the man deserved the truth, "It was the only way Flint. It was the only way to get you to come here, no? What is my country to you but nothing, just a pile of rocks and some cities sprouting up, maybe an outpost against the Soviet machine. I've been to your home. Your government does not care about us. We could die here, we were dying here, and Bush would not even at least recognize us, no? Russia yes, but us, no! We deserve more. I am giving my people more."

"But Cobra?"

"They listened. They came and offered what no one else would. They would give us our country. And if they didn't, then I had a backup plan. No matter how it worked out, Georgia would be free."

"You realize what you did."

"I did what I had to."

"You almost killed her Giorgi."

"What are you talking about?"

Giorgi's voice was genuinely surprised. Flint didn't expect that and had assumed the team would tell Giorgi the depths of his betrayal. He relished being the one to deliver the news, "Lady Jaye, Giorgi, Lady Jaye."

"What? No. You are making this up. I've already told you. Don't talk of this thing."

"She almost died Giorgi, she almost died out there because of what you did."

"But she is fine now. It is all fine."

"Not really. Her name was in the book."

"What did you say?" The blood drained out of Giorgi's face; he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What do you know of the book?"

"I overheard you when you explained it to Jaye. I know about the book. Her name was in that thing."

Giorgi gave a nervous laugh, "But, there is a mistake, she is with us. Her name couldn't have been in the book, you are mistaken."

"No, you're correct, her name wasn't in the book at first," Flint paused, "mine was." Flint's anger grew. Reliving the past events still caused him to choke inside. To think that she would sacrifice herself like that so he could live, it meant everything to him. To have been that close to losing her, he couldn't even fathom that scenario. "But she took my place and replaced my name with hers."

Giorgi shook his head violently from side to side, "This does not make any sense. You do not understand the book. Her name was not in it. You are wrong."

"She's only with us because someone took her place." Flint leaned across the space between them, pausing, before delivering the blow, "Rezo."

Giorgi looked as if his whole world had been destroyed with a single word. His head went back and forth, frantic and erratic, trying to dispel the news, "No, no, no. It can't be, not Rezo. No, you are wrong. You do not know Rezo." He looked up at Flint, his eyes red and raw, "You are mistaken. Not Rezo."

"Yes Rezo. It was an act of pure love. He loved her in that short time through the caves. He grew to love her and gave his life for her. He's the hero, not you. When the story of Georgia is told, it won't be your name. I'll make sure with my last dying breath that it will always be Rezo."

"You were in the caves?"

"Yes, we were."

"Rezo was in the caves?" Giorgi's demeanor changed, "The caves exist?"

Flint was flabbergasted at the man's sudden change in tone. He just told him his son was dead and now he wanted to know about that hellish place? Flint was done. He hoped wherever Giorgi went, he rotted there for a long time. Flint stood up, fishing the keys out of his pocket.

Giorgi crawled toward Flint, "The caves, tell me about the caves."

Flint looked down at him, "Good-bye Giorgi."

Flint walked toward the door, Giorgi remained on his knees, pleading, "The caves, what did you see in the caves!"

Flint opened the door and shut it behind him, ignoring Giorgi's pleas. There waiting for him was Hawk and Duke. Flint held the keys out to Duke, who cringed at the state of Flint's right hand. Taking them, he put them back on his belt.

Turning his attention to Hawk, Flint repeated Giorgi's confession of working with Cobra.

"I thought so. Thank you."

Flint turned to go.

"Flint."

"Yes Sir?"

"Get Lifeline to look at that hand."

"It's fine Sir."

"No, we have to follow protocol. When our equipment doesn't work, we need to report it. Those pencil pushers will never give us a chance if we don't fight back."

"Equipment?"

"Well, when a trunk smashes down on your hand through no fault of your own, I can't in good conscience allow defective equipment like that to remain as a hazard. No, go and have Lifeline take a look and fill out an incident report for the Awe-striker trunk in which you found your hand caught. I mean, there's no other reason for your hand to be in that condition is there Flint?" Hawk raised his eyebrows, "I mean, if someone were to complain about rough treatment, you wouldn't be involved now would you? After all, Duke's been here the entire time on watch and the keys have only been under his or my control. You wouldn't have knowledge otherwise I assume?"

"No Sir, I wouldn't."

"Good. Now go see to it because you then need to have your bags packed and ready to go for transport. Wild Bill will be shuttling you out of here by nineteen hundred."

"Sir?"

"Well yes, your request for unscheduled leave to Germany. I did grant that."

"Leave?"

"Flint, I swear, did you leave your head back in that avalanche? You put in that request for leave. Since Wild Bill happens to be heading to Landstuhl to pick up supplies after this fiasco, I assumed you'd piggyback off of him, save us all some time. That is, unless I'm mistaken."

For what seemed to be the first time in forever, Flint felt the corners of his lips turn up and that weight on his shoulders was a little lighter. "No Sir, you're not mistaken."

"Well good then. Dismissed."

Flint snapped to attention, saluting his commanding officer, before turning and leaving in a bit of a daze. Duke resumed his place guarding the door with an elaborate bow to Hawk. "Well played General."

Hawk shrugged his shoulders, "Duke, I have no idea what you're talking about," a slight pause, "Speaking of which, do you know where I placed those leave forms anyway?"


	35. You always have a choice

**January 3, 1992: Federal Republic of Germany, Landstuhl Regional Medical Center,** **BLDG 10, Hallway D, Room 220**

**Chapter 35: You always have a choice**

It was the change-of-shift for the nurses on Hallway D. Gathering around their station, the outgoing nurses, tired, hungry, and ready for bed, held their report with those who had yet to feel gravity's pull. The nurses discussed assignments, reviewed charts, updated files, and most importantly, compared notes of the sort that would never end up in the official report. Of particular interest to the oncoming shift was the status of room 220's occupants. The patient was recently taken of off her feeding tube and sedatives. Now it was a waiting game to see whether she was ready for the world or if she'd have to go back under. But it wasn't the patient's medical prognosis that piqued the oncomings' queries. No, their interest was in a different matter entirely.

"Sheila, there's no way that man is her brother. I don't care what that form says."

The Sheila in question, Lt. Sheila Blackmon, a young, romantic girl of about 23, also harbored a sneaking suspicion that the man in question, one tall, brooding, raven-haired, rather attractive warrant officer with a week's worth of stubble and a nervous glare directed at anyone approaching her patient, was not a relative. The signs were all there starting with the lack of a common surname. Although not entirely compelling evidence, as some siblings did indeed have differing last names, other oddities in the equation just didn't add up. First, there was his nervous pacing. Any brother Sheila had known didn't have the need to burn off that much energy walking a groove into the floor. Second, his fitful sleep. During those times when he actually allowed himself to doze off on the uncomfortable visitor's chair, all lumps and bumps, any decent padding suffered out of it long ago, he tossed and turned, never truly giving in to sleep's release. Sheila did her best to try to encourage him to take a break, even offering him the use of an empty room not too far down the hallway from where her patient slept. But no, the man would shake his head and resume his vigil over his supposed "sister." Finally, it was the intimacy he expressed when he thought he was alone. On a few occasions, Sheila had walked in unannounced while he held the woman's hand or brushed hair out of her face. It was the look on his face, as if his heart was shattering on the spot. The doctors all reassured him that the woman would pull through, that given her fragile mental state, sedation was best to manage her until she was in a more reasonable frame of mind. Any mentions of fragile states and frames of mind were enough to send the man back to his chair to brood some more. No, that man had as much of a chance of being her patient's brother as Sheila had of being Mother Teresa. But, Sheila had a hopeful heart and a fondness for the romance novels sent in droves by the Ladies Auxiliary Gulfport and she could see that the man's love was guarded. Perhaps the woman, Sergeant Burnett, had a boyfriend somewhere or maybe, just maybe, and this is where Sheila's imagination was closest to the truth, the man was the sergeant's superior. Although they came from different units, the signatures on their respective paperwork, one General Hawk and one General Bird, looked nearly identical.

Thus, convinced that she must protect his secret, Sheila did her best to dissuade the others from poking their noses around too much less Cpt. Ragan take more of an interest. "Nope, look at them, they couldn't look more alike if they tried."

The first nurse, Lt. Leslie Dalton, was not one to let things go, "Sheila, do you need glasses? Where on earth do you see any similarity between the two?"

"Well," Sheila paused, mulling over her meager options, "Look at their hair. They're both pretty dark and I bet his hair would be just as messy if he let it grow. But we'll never know now will we. Let them be. He's not bothering anyone."

"Except for Ragan, she has her eye on him." This last observation was made by Lt. Tamara Roundtree. A quiet, astute woman, her one contribution to the conversation was exactly what Sheila feared the most. Cpt. Ragan ran a tight floor and woe was the soldier who crossed her the wrong way. If Cpt. Ragan thought there were any shenanigans underfoot, Sheila wouldn't put it past her to report the warrant officer. Sheila was determined that wouldn't happen on her shift.

"Well Tam, Ragan will do what she'll do. But I don't know, like I said, he's not harming anyone. Besides, it's kind of nice that someone cares."

Leslie poked Sheila, "Aww, you're just a softy. You don't think he's her brother do you." It was a declarative statement. "Come on, spill it, he's her boyfriend."

Sheila shrugged her shoulders, "Who cares what I think. All I know is that his CO vouched for him; her CO vouched for her and that's all I need. Come on, time to work." With that, the young nurses dispersed to the four corners of the floor to attend to the chicks of their flock.

* * *

Darkness and light were forever changing and melting into each other. Voices buzzed in the background. Still she slept, her body repairing itself, mending frayed muscles, healing frost-nipped skin, soothing a fretful mind. The noises in the background began to seep into her subconscious; the whining and chirping of machines morphed into talking robots walking on clouds while the beeping of monitors provided a staccato soundtrack to her rest. It was the beeping that intruded the most. Always the constant beeping. She could shut it out for a time until at last the sounds became a roar, eyes fluttering open, she saw she was not alone.

Stretched out in an upholstered chair, Flint dozed, his beret tilted over his eyes to block out the light, arms folded across his chest. The angle of his head created an odd snore, half wheeze, half whistle, the exhale from his mouth tickled his nose and rocked the beret. He had the faint beard of a man who had not shaved for days and she really didn't want to know just how long he'd been wearing that shirt. No doubt Hawk called in a few favors to allow Flint his place in her room. She'd have to remember to thank him.

"Flint?" Her voice was scratchy from disuse and in need of a cool glass of water.

He stirred, his head shifting positions, the beret knocked to the ground.

"Flint?" She tried again.

"Wha?" He snapped to attention, sliding out of the chair and landing with a thump. "Alison!" The excitement in his voice filled the room. She never knew she could be so happy just to hear someone say her name like that.

Flint dusted himself off and dragged the chair to her bedside. "Hey babe," he settled down, taking her hand, pushing her hair off her forehead. He knew she wouldn't be pleased if she saw the extent of her bed head.

Struggling to get up, she didn't have the strength to protest as Flint placed a hand to her shoulder, gently easing her back down. "Not yet, you've been out of it for a while." He grabbed the bed's remote and with the press of a button, eased her into a semi-sitting position.

"How long?" She creaked out.

"Enough that the Soviet Union is no more."

"What?"

"Sorry babe, you missed it. Gorbachev resigned and the USSR dissolved. There was quite a party around here on New Year's Eve when the Soviet flag was lowered for the last time over the Kremlin."

"New Year's Eve? Dash, what day is it?"

Flint checked his watch, "Um, January 3rd." He smiled his lopsided grin, "Sorry, looks like I've been out of it too."

Lady Jaye stared up at the ceiling, January 3. It was 1992 already. She missed it. She missed Christmas and New Year's in one fell swoop. But she felt lucid and alert, if not slightly groggy and definitely thirsty. Her throat burned. Still, if she was in serious trouble, she'd be in the ICU or worse, she wouldn't even recognize Flint. She had seen it happen enough. Coughing, "Is there any water?"

"Sorry babe, all I can offer you are these tasty ice chips made out of the finest German spring water." He handed her a styrofoam cup.

She stuck out her tongue.

"Come on Alison, you gave me a scare. Just do what the doctor says for once."

Alison. She took the cup. Alison. Very rarely did he use her full name. It had to have been serious. She strained her neck to check out the various machines and gadgets surrounding her. There was enough hardware in her room to land a small plane. "How bad am I?" The ice chips remained in the cup.

"Come on babe, drink up." Flint squeezed her hand, "You're on the mend now, that's all that matters."

"How bad?"

"It wasn't that bad. It's just that you slept, a lot. Every once in a while you'd say something, but, given everything that happened, no one was going to push you. The doctors thought it best that you just get some rest."

Her eyes grew wide, "I said something? What did I say?"

Flint shifted in the seat, uneasy and reluctant to answer her question. She had screamed out in terror the first night when she came to and no amount of reassurance could settle her mind. Instead, it had gotten worse, to the point where she had to be restrained. Every time she awoke from a nightmare, she would scream. It killed him. The doctor deemed her to be a hazard to herself in that hysterical state and found it better to sedate her. She was terrified of something called a demi and cowered in fear that a goat man would eat her. The doctors thought it delusions, he knew better. It was the caves. Whatever she experienced, he watched as she relived it in her mind over and over again. He wouldn't tell her that. He also wouldn't mention the one unfamiliar name she had cried out, Dermot. She had never mentioned a Dermot before. He imagined he was family. Given the lack of stability on that front, he made the game time decision to omit the reference. From her tone, something bad had happened. Probably someone her grandmother had taken out. She didn't need to worry about that now.

"Please Dash, what happened?" It was coming back to her, but it had to have been a dream, a figment of her imagination, it had to be.

"You were scared, really scared. Mostly screaming. It was, it wasn't that." Flint closed his eyes, he couldn't lie to her. How many times had he tried to protect her from things over the years? Heck, it seemed like his greatest transgressions were in trying to protect her. She was a big girl though. She could handle it. She deserved the truth. "Ali, it was really bad. You mentioned the jeep, and the crash, and. . . ."

"Dash, did it really happen?"

He pursed his lips, bobbing his head, "Yeah babe, it did."

"I didn't dream it."

"No."

"You were there?"

"Yes."

"Rezo?"

Flint reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled bit of newspaper. Smoothing it out on his leg, he handed it over.

Squinting to make out the small, blurred letters, Lady Jaye flew through the article. It was an AP release about the recent uprisings in Georgia and the inevitable defeat of Gamsakhurdia's supporters. The reporter noted the recent terrorist activity in the country and the infiltration of the cell by one Revaz Makashvili, who gave his life in preventing an attack while the country was in turmoil. The reporter labeled Rezo a hero. She blinked back a few tears, "Thank you Dash, thank you." Flint squeezed her hand. She turned serious, "What about . . . "

"Giorgi?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"We had to turn him over and he was charged with treason. Hawk tried to get him detained as a military prisoner but he couldn't get the Jugglers on board. I'm not going to lie; it doesn't look good. But he's resourceful. Civil unrest may be what he needs to survive. I can only imagine what he knows about all the buried bodies." Flint shook it off, "But enough of that talk. The doctor gave strict orders for you to take it easy the next few days and I intend to make that happen."

"Dash?"

"Yeah babe?"

She reached and touched his lips, trailing her fingers down his neck and resting over his heart, "You never left did you."

"I meant it, every word. You know that, right?"

Her eyes agreed.

Flint's left leg started to jitter and he felt the old insecurities creeping back in. Could he do this, could he do this right? It seemed every time he tried, fate intervened. Looking at Lady Jaye, he didn't care about fate. Fate was happening right here and right now. His fate was on this hospital bed before him. It wasn't the romantic proposal with flowers and a moonlit night he thought she deserved but he wasn't waiting any longer. In five more minutes Nurse Blackmon would check in and no doubt Nurse Ratched would be close on her heels. For whatever reason, that woman had it in for him. He had to admit that he wasn't doing the most bang-up job at playing the brother, but in his defense he told Hawk it would never fly. The General would do what the General was going to do though and here he was playing the worst brother on the Continent. His palms began to sweat. Give him a battle to plan, not this. He gulped, pulling at his collar.

"Dash? Are you ok? Do you need to lie down?"

He waved off her concern. Gathering up all his courage, he strove forth to engage his fear and defeat the enemy. "Ah, Alison?"

"Dash?" Now she was concerned. He was fidgeting something fierce and looked like he might just pass out.

"I'm ok. I can do this."

She was too confused to even respond. If she didn't know better, she'd swear he was breaking down in front of her. Maybe the wrong person was in the hospital bed.

"Alison, I love you. I think I've loved you since the day we had coffee in that little diner with the tile tables. I think I loved you before I knew you."

Lady Jaye gasped, she had an idea, an inkling really, of the direction of Flint's comments. She'd let him finish.

Flint smiled, half laughing, he knew that look in her eyes. It was when she figured out who did it before the rest of the movie theatre. She'd give his hand a death grip and would bounce in her seat, eager for him to join her on the other side. She was giving his hand that death grip now and it kind of hurt. "I never want to have that fear again. The fear I lost out, the fear that I lost you. I want to be with you for as long as life will allow." He kicked the chair away, kneeling down before her bed, "'If ever any beauty I did see, which I desired and got, was but a dream of thee.' Will you marry me?" Drawing something out of his pocket, he held up the opened black velvet box with its solitaire ring sized for her finger.

The brief second it took her to draw the breath to say yes, was agonizing for Flint. In his head, it was a pause to figure out how to let him down gently. He did dare to presume too much. He began to draw the box away.

"Dash!" Lady Jaye swatted him, "I said yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes!" Happy tears bubbled in her eyes and her hand trembled as Flint slipped the ring on her finger. She couldn't believe it. She had thought he was trying to break away when all he was doing was planning this. A sheepish look crossed her face and Flint knew exactly what thoughts were transpiring in her head. He just smiled, his eyes a bit glassy, and leaned in to seal the proposal with a kiss. Drawing apart, Flint traced the contours of her face, "Just so you know, I did this right. I asked Robert. I figured he'd be the one you wanted."

Her face welled up, a new onslaught of tears threatening to break through. Ever since her parents died, her Uncle Robert was the one who would look out for her. He was exactly the right person. She grabbed Flint for another kiss, oblivious to the fact that he was her brother and that Lt. Blackmon was standing at the door.

An uncomfortable cough was followed by a forced, "Ahem." Flint peered over Lady Jaye and saw Sheila standing there, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. He broke away like a teenager caught in the act. Lady Jaye, who couldn't wipe the smile off her face, looked expectantly back and forth between the two, waiting for Flint to make the announcement.

"Well Mr. Faireborn, I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Yeah, um, well, about that."

"Mr. Faireborn, you weren't fooling anyone."

"I wasn't?"

Lady Jaye followed the volley of words, wondering exactly what Hawk had in fact done to allow Flint to stay with her, "Dash?"

Flint was adjusting his imaginary beret, silent.

"No, Mr. Faireborn, you weren't."

"What wasn't Mr. Faireborn doing?" A shrill commanding voice entered the fray, followed by the larger-than-life presence that was Cpt. Ragan.

"Captain." Sheila stepped to the side.

Cpt. Ragan entered the room, taking in the scene of Mr. Faireborn kneeling before Sergeant Burnett, a ring on her finger that had not been there before. "Mr. Faireborn, I gave you strict instructions to notify us should Sergeant Burnett wake."

"Nurse Ratched!"

"Faireborn, if I have to tell you one more time that my name is Ragan, I will revoke your visiting privileges. I do not care what this General Bird will do. These are my patients and I will make sure they get better. Am I clear?"

Flint reverted to his junior high self, "Um, yes ma'am."

Lady Jaye hid her smile behind her sleeve and coughed.

"And the same goes for you Burnett. I don't care how long you've been out of it. You and your brother there," Lady Jaye's face scrunched up in disbelief. She was really enjoying this, "have caused enough of a scandal. Now please just go on and kiss your _brother_ your good-byes. He needs to vacate while we run some tests."

"Yes ma'am." Lady Jaye looked up at Flint, "Well, _dear brother_, looks like you have to go."

"I'm sorry my sister to have to leave you. I'll call our parents now." He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

As he stood up, Cpt. Ragan stepped in, "Oh please Mr. Faireborn, you don't think I haven't dealt with General Hawk before. I see that man is still up to his old tricks. General Bird. You'd think he'd find a new name by now. Now just go on and give her a decent send-off and then go and make your calls." Flint held up his hands and leaned in for a proper good-bye. Before he left the room, Cpt. Ragan stopped him again, "After you make your calls, Lt. Blackmon here will take you down to L&D and get some champagne. It's only right that the lady here should have a suitable celebration."

"Thank you ma'am." Flint left with Lt. Blackmon at his heels, leaving Lady Jaye behind with the Captain.

Cpt. Ragan turned her attention to her patient in the bed, whistling as she ran through her tests. It looked like Roundtree owed her ten dollars as did Dalton. Siblings, her foot. When was that Hawk ever going to learn? First the silent man and the redhead, then the mechanic and the drill sergeant, and now these two. At least this one didn't wear a mask. She didn't know what kind of operation Hawk ran but it sure seemed to produce a lot of injured couples.

* * *

After urging Lady Jaye to take it easy and leaving some more ice chips, Ragan departed to collect her winnings. Lady Jaye was alone. And with solitude, came thought. No doubt Flint would be gone awhile. If all the Faireborn clan was present, he'd be telling his story at least 15 times, if not more, as the phone would be passed from person to person, each feeling important enough that he or she should have the story delivered straight from the source. Stretching her arms, she smiled; he wasn't going to be back any time soon.

Relaxing back into the bed, Lady Jaye allowed her thoughts to unwind. She was happy, of that there was no doubt. It was what she wanted, what she had hoped for, but at what cost? There were things she needed to say, but hadn't. Now, she couldn't. The threshold to the point of no return was crossed and she couldn't go back. At what point did the past cease to be?

It never does.

It's ever present, shaping who we are now and who we will become. As hard as she tried to ignore that fact, it came to haunt her decisions, her choices, and now, this. The ring felt heavy on her hand and weighed her heart down. But she knew, she and only she alone should bear this burden. She looked forward to the future, if she could only escape the past. She murmured a prayer that it would be so.

Why this, why now? In one word, Rezo. It wasn't that she had feelings for Rezo, not like that. The Book of the Dead surely cleared that up. No, it was the memories he had awakened, the memories she kept at bay. The past she had always tried to leave behind.

She took the ring off and examined it. It was beautiful. Sparkling, delicate, and classic, Flint knew she'd never want something showy. No, this was perfect. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, willing the ring to fill her with the hope and promise symbolized by the giving of the gift. It would be the start of something new and fulfilling. She exhaled, finding that the words were only that, just words in her head but not in her heart. She let the tears fall. Why couldn't she feel more, why? She clutched the ring to her chest, trying to forget the past events and the memories they resurrected. It was too much. She gripped the ring tighter, ignoring the pain as the jewelry cut into her palm. _What have I done, what have I done?_ She looked around frantically, panic setting in. Rocking back and forth, the tension sought release and she threw the ring across the room.

A hand emerged from behind the room partition and deftly caught the ring midair. The hand's owner stepped fully into her sight, revealing a questioning Beachhead. "I think you might want to hold on to this." With his Alabama drawl, the words were an observation of certainty. He walked around the foot of the bed, settling himself into the visitor's chair. He extended his hand, holding out the ring for her to take.

Lady Jaye was too surprised to wipe away the tears and took the ring from his outstretched hand. She stared at it for a moment and then set it down on the bedside table. Dabbing at her eyes, she waited for Beachhead to break the silence.

"Well, if you're not gonna say anything, I'm not gonna ask." He settled into the chair, stretching his legs out. "How are you feeling?"

"About as good as a centipede with swollen ankles."

"Nice. How long they keeping you here?"

"I'm not sure. Probably another few days under observation and then it's stateside for me. I'm, however, pushing for as soon as possible." She glanced over in his direction, "Thinking about making a break for it. Could use an accomplice?"

"Oh no, nice try. You stay put and just get better. You don't do anyone any good with a couple of holes in you."

Lady Jaye laughed, "Some help you are. What happened? How come you're here?"

"You mean with the Germany thing?"

"Yes, the Germany thing."

"Sorry sugar, we're no longer an item. Looks like we're getting an annulment. While you were playing sleeping beauty, the world went on without you. We've got a whole host of new former Commie states. I can't even begin to tell you what's happening in Georgia. Seems Interpol suddenly has bigger concerns than an alleged Cobra sting. SNAFU, plain and simple."

The mention of their "marriage" caused a surge of emotion in Lady Jaye. She felt an overwhelming sadness and despair. It welled up from deep within and choked her. She had to look away. Beachhead said nothing but reached across the space and took her hand in his. "Beach?" Her voice was plaintive, timid.

"Yeah Jaye Bird?"

Jaye Bird, that got to her. She and Beachhead could be ripping each other's head off in the middle of the worst verbal spar ever known to man, but she always knew things would be okay when he called her Jaye Bird. If only everything could be that black and white. "Please don't tell anyone about this."

"I won't but maybe you have some things to think about."

Lady Jaye turned her head back to face him. All she saw was genuine concern in his eyes. He wasn't looking for a way to torment her. He just wanted to help. "No." She bit her lower lip, it was becoming an unwanted habit. "I guess, maybe, I, I don't know." Although she professed denial, her facial expression gave her away to the drill instructor. He could see it; she agreed with him but was scared. He tried a different approach.

"You know, you don't have to do anything you're not ready to do. Just because something is expected, it doesn't necessarily mean it's the right course of action."

"But what if you feel like you don't have a choice?"

"No, there's always a choice."

"Now you sound just like my dad."

"I'm serious. You have a choice."

"That's easy for you to say."

"No, it isn't. Having the choice puts the path in your hands. It's much easier to sit back and let things happen. It's infinitely harder to be proactive."

Lady Jaye nodded her head in agreement. For once she didn't have a sharp retort for the man. As he lived his life so did he provide his advice. He expected from you but a fraction of what he expected from himself.

"Listen," Beachhead softened his tone, "I'm not going to tell you what's right or what's wrong. Frankly, I don't know. It's for you to decide." He shrugged, "Do it because you're ready, because you want to. And if not, you know I'll support you." He squeezed her hand and let go. Standing up from the chair, he adjusted his balaclava. He chuckled, "You wouldn't believe the problems I had getting up here with this on."

"I can imagine."

Beachhead leaned over and quickly kissed her forehead through his knitted cap, whispering, "Tell anyone I have a heart and you won't even begin to imagine how hard PT can be when you get back." As unexpectedly as he had entered the room, Beachhead disappeared from Lady Jaye's sight, leaving her to contemplate his words.

Sighing, she turned her attention back to the piece of jewelry resting at her bedside. It glittered and beckoned her. Reaching over, she cupped it into her hand, squeezing tight, wishing it was a magic 8 ball that would give her all the answers. Opening up, it was just a ring. A ring that promised so much and required everything she had to give. But there was so much she had held back. Was it too late? She placed the ring back on her finger. She hoped it wasn't.

THE END

A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this story. I really appreciate it. There're a lot of things you could do, and I'm glad you shared some of your time with me. I apologize for the lack of better editing. I tried to embrace the perfect is the enemy of the good philosophy. In trying for perfection, I never would have published, so warts and all, warts and all (like the glaring error in my first introduction- yikes! need to go back in time and fix that). A special thanks to those who stuck with me through some rough patches and droughts. I haven't always been the most considerate of friends, wrapped up in my own world, but you never held that against me and I appreciate it. And the reviews- thank you so much to all who have left reviews. It makes the job of an anonymous author worth it.

I bid you adieu (as plans now turn to the sequel!)


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